


Stars, Hide Your Fires

by magisterpavus



Series: THIHV/Vampire AU [2]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Vampire, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Biting, Blood, Dirty Talk, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Marking, Mates, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Slow Burn, Soul Bond, Vampires
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-15
Updated: 2017-07-15
Packaged: 2018-12-02 10:37:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 36,660
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11507655
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/magisterpavus/pseuds/magisterpavus
Summary: Vampires are not meant to be solitary - after a century alone, Shiro is absolutely, painfully aware of this fact.But when he turns a dying stranger named Keith, he gets more than he ever bargained for.(Prologue toThe Hurricane in His Veins, because before Lance, there was Shiro and Keith.)





	Stars, Hide Your Fires

**Author's Note:**

> yo just a heads up you don't need to read this before the main fic, The Hurricane in His Veins, and you don't necessarily have to read THIHV before reading this one. but my personal recommended order is THIHV first, then this, then the epilogue, because there are some easter eggs from the main fic in this one :')
> 
> enjoy~

_Stars, hide your fires;  
Let not light see my black and deep desires. _

_The eye wink at the hand, yet let that be_  
_Which the eye fears, when it is done, to see._

_\- Macbeth_

**Redding, California**

_**Wednesday, September 13, 1909** _

 

He had grown to hate the night.

Once, before, a long, long time ago, he had enjoyed the cool darkness of the world once the sun sank below the horizon. He had spent many a night gazing up at the sky, trying to find the constellations he recognized from back home, smiling when he finally managed to pick them out – they were a connection to his old life, a way to help him forget the foreign land he’d washed up on against his will.

But no longer. Now, Shiro could find no delight in the cold white lights that did little to illuminate the even colder night. Not that he needed illumination – he could see perfectly well in the dark, better even than in the daytime. Yes, as much as he hated it, he had become a creature of the night; one of those monsters mothers warned their children about to scare them into sleeping.

And with good reason. Shiro hated the night because it was when he was forced to succumb to his instincts and feed. In the day, he could at least pretend he was something other than a murderous beast, but now…now, he had to embrace it, or die a slow death from hunger and madness. Learning how to hunt had taken time, but Shiro had no shortage of that.

During his time with the Galra – which was not a time he liked to reflect upon for too long – he’d had no need of hunting. They’d thrown prey – humans, he had to remind himself – to him like scraps to a wild dog. There’d been nowhere for them to run in the ring.

But in the city, they could all too easily scurry away like rats. If they were smart, they ran to other humans, where they were safe – Shiro didn’t risk attacking groups. But if they were foolish, which was all too often the case, they would run without any destination in mind except escape.

The key, Shiro had learned, was to prevent them from running in the first place.

He knew that the Galra who hunted in other sectors of the city used their thrall to subdue humans, often without a second thought. But Shiro thought that was cheating. It was easier if he reframed the hunt as a game in his mind, and tried to make it as fair as possible.

He didn’t prey on the sick or the injured. Their blood was inferior to the healthy and strong ones anyway. He would often follow humans for several streets, and give them a chance to realize they were in danger. If they listened to their gut feeling and hastily headed for a bar or nearby shop, Shiro left them alone. But if they continued walking, or turned a corner and started down an empty street…he didn’t hesitate any longer.

The only time he used his thrall was afterwards. If the human was still alive – which happened most of the time, Shiro would like to think – he would make them forget. Forget what had happened, forget his face, forget the bite marks he’d left on them. They would get to their feet and wander off dazedly, as if they had been drugged. In a way, Shiro supposed they had.

This night was just like any other. The city was a maze of dark corners and shadowy figures, all of them up to no good, some more than others. Shiro hadn’t fed in some time – he tried to stretch out the time between hunts as much as possible, but knew that there was a price to pay if he waited too long. His victim tonight was not likely to survive…he needed more blood than usual; he could feel the hunger gnawing at his stomach and clawing its way up his dry throat like a thorny serpent.

Unfortunately, one could not make corpses forget, and people tended to notice them. So Shiro headed towards the poorer factory district instead of the usual markets and taverns that he frequented, which were always bursting at the seams with viable prey. He knew he was technically trespassing, but doubted the Galra would care, or stop him. This wasn’t a particularly valuable part of their territory. Lotor was too proud to boast about feeding from those who lived in slums. And people in the slums wound up dead so frequently that a corpse or two wouldn’t be considered amiss.

Almost as soon as he crossed into the district, a distinct scent caught his attention. Shiro sniffed the air delicately, wrinkling his nose as he walked through the narrow streets, sifting past the rank odor of unwashed bodies and refuse in the gutters, and then past the even stronger smell of coal and kerosene. Finally he caught the trail – a human who must have already been bleeding, its scent was so strong. Shiro approached with caution, in case it was bleeding because a Galra had already found it.

But as he rounded the corner of what appeared to be a factory dormitory, he found no Galra, just a boy.

A pale, crumpled human boy with messy black hair, on the ground, clutching at his own chest and mouth and coughing violently, skinny shoulders trembling with the effort. Shiro stopped in his tracks and stared, conflicted. The boy was sick, clearly – consumption, in its final stages. The scent rolling off of him was distinct, yes, but not exactly pleasant up close. Though Shiro could not possibly catch his disease, it didn’t make his blood appealing.

But the boy himself…he was quite appealing. Shiro took a step forward at the thought, and the boy lifted his head, startled and confused, and Shiro revised his earlier consensus. The boy was _very_ appealing.

He had features somewhat similar to Shiro’s own, and though he did not look fully Asian, Shiro immediately felt a certain kinship with him. There were so few of them in the city, after the immigration exclusion acts, and Shiro wondered at the boy’s origin with rare, genuine curiosity. His irises must have been bright when he was healthy, but now they were a dull, hazy color somewhere between violet and dark blue, or perhaps it was a trick of the light. He had wide eyes, fringed with dark lashes as long and thick as a girl’s, though that was balanced out by the sharp line of his jaw and cheekbones. His lips were cracked and streaked with red, parted slightly. He wore only a nightshirt, long and white and blood-splattered around the collar.

Shiro did not expect the boy to reach out to him as he approached and knelt at his side. Shiro wasn’t certain why he did it. He felt drawn to this boy in a way that no other humans had made him feel. He felt…pity, he supposed, yes, that must be it. Pity for this small, weak, dying creature at his feet. It was only natural. Wasn’t it?

The boy didn’t protest when Shiro slipped an arm under him, lifting his upper body from the filthy ground and leaning closer to him, scenting the blood once more and deciding it wasn’t entirely terrible. Infected, yes, but there was a definite sweetness beneath. The boy’s body was wracked with coughs again, blood splattering all over Shiro’s evening coat. He frowned, mildly annoyed, but he didn’t release the boy. He didn’t really know why.

Then the boy spoke. “Are…are you a demon?” he rasped, staring up at Shiro blearily. Shiro realized his fangs must be visible, and frowned deeper – he had to dispose of the boy, now, which was more upsetting than it should have been. “Are you going to take me to Hell?”

Shiro blinked. “Why,” he asked carefully, “do you believe you will go to Hell?”

The boy squeezed his eyes shut, pained. “I was cast down in life; why would I not be cast down in death also?” he whispered.

Shiro regarded him. It would be cruel to leave him here – he would die eventually, but it would be better to make it quick. Put him out of his misery. From the sound of it, no one would miss him. “I’m not a demon,” Shiro murmured. He lifted the boy upright, and lowered his head, inhaling against the boy’s soft, smooth neck. “But I can take away your suffering.” He opened his mouth, fangs touching the boy’s skin, ready to pierce through.

The boy shuddered at the contact, and, to Shiro’s dismay, began to cry. “I want to live,” the boy gasped, his voice as fragile and wrecked as broken glass. “Please, let me live.”

Shiro didn’t understand. Did this boy somehow believe he still had a chance at survival in this condition? “You are going to die anyway,” he told the boy flatly.

“No,” the boy protested, sobbing harder, which made him cough again, which made Shiro wince as his coat received another smattering of blood. “I have to – to say goodbye –”

“You can barely speak,” Shiro said. “And if you think I am carrying you like a personal hackney to some beloved friend of yours, you are sorely mistaken.”

The boy kept crying, as if he hadn’t even heard him. Shiro sighed, and then, coming to a decision, gathered the boy up in his arms and got to his feet. The boy clutched at his shoulders, sob breaking on a whimper of fear. He stared blearily up at Shiro, and then, shivering, turned his face into Shiro’s coat. Shiro paused. The boy was terrified, but he was also desperate enough to trust a fanged stranger, and he wasn’t trying to escape. Shiro appreciated that the boy wasn’t trying his patience – he was still hungry, and it was difficult to have so much blood so close. Even if it was slightly spoiled.

The boy’s tears and blood soaked through his coat as Shiro carried him away from the factory and down the darkened street. The boy quieted after a while, perhaps soothed by Shiro’s steady pace and gentle yet firm grip on his gaunt body.

Or maybe it was just because he was dying. That did tend to shut people up.

There was a flicker of movement just as Shiro was about to cross the city limits, and he stopped in the cobblestone lane, eyes narrowing as he turned to face the figure in the shadow of an alleyway. The boy must have felt the tension in his body, because he made another noise of fear and twisted his fingers tighter into Shiro’s coat.

Shiro scented the air. Galra. A female, out hunting. Hungry. He growled low in his throat as she stepped out onto the street. Her skin’s violet hue was lightened by her glamour, a magic meant to disguise her among humans, but any vampire could see through such tricks. She made no attempt to hide her gleaming golden eyes and sharp white fangs, but she was focused on the boy, not Shiro.

“Go away,” Shiro warned, baring his teeth. She was a common soldier, strong but not strong enough to defeat him in a one on one fight. Though he got the impression that she was curious, not aggressive. Well, that made one of them.

“What do you have, there?” she asked, ignoring his obvious threat. She sniffed, and Shiro bristled, strangely angered by the thought of any other vampire smelling this boy’s blood. “Ugh,” she said. “It is soon to be a corpse. Very sick.” She cocked her head. “Yet you carry it like a baby.”

“You know who I am,” Shiro gritted out. “I said, _go away_.”

“Yes, I know who you are, _Champion_ ,” she simpered, rolling her eyes. “And I know you don’t play with your food these days. So what are you doing with this one?”

“None of your business,” he retorted.

Her lips thinned, but she said, “Lotor will be interested to know if you can in fact become a sire. Let us hope, for its sake,” she nodded to the boy, “that you can.”

“Maybe I just want a meal for the road,” Shiro said.

“Hm,” she said, unconvinced, but to his relief she left him, melting back into the shadows.

The boy coughed again. “Thirsty,” he rasped.

Shiro snorted. “You have no idea,” he muttered, and continued on down the road.

*

Some time later, they reached his estate; wreathed by iron gates and tall evergreens, perched on a hill several miles outside the city. Years from now, Shiro wondered if it would be consumed by the slowly-spreading forest, and found he didn’t much care if it was.

It was an imposing building, three stories of weathered stone, with tall, narrow windows and a sprawling garden of overgrown topiary hedges and rosebushes, dying now that autumn had set in. The stables were a low, long building to the west, and Shiro inhaled, letting the familiar scent of fresh hay and horses calm his nerves. The iron gates clanged shut behind him as he strode up the curving front drive, and the boy shifted a little in his arms until he could see the house, and the huge, arched door they were headed towards.

“Oh,” the boy whispered, awed. “What…is this place?”

“My house,” Shiro said shortly, rapping on the door. His butler opened it almost immediately – a tall, thin, nervous man; Arthur obviously did not know what to make of the scene before him. He also knew better than to pry, and that was why Shiro employed him.

“Welcome home, master,” he said, bowing hastily. Shiro nodded to him and walked inside, Arthur closing and locking the door behind him. “You returned earlier than usual, tonight.”

“Brilliant observation, Arthur,” Shiro muttered. “I’m going to the cellar. Do not disturb me until I come back up. Understood?”

“Yes, master,” Arthur said, eying the boy with obvious apprehension, but still holding his tongue.

Shiro would have assured him of the boy’s safety, but he had no idea if this was going to work or not, and he disliked making false promises.

*

The cellar was not damp and unpleasant, as most cellars were. It was a wine cellar, originally, though Shiro had repurposed it to better fit his needs. Not all of the bottles had wine in them. They were for the nights when he couldn’t bring himself to hunt.

He set the boy down on the old sofa in the corner, near the tall mahogany medicine cabinet. Shiro didn’t have good memories of this sofa – he’d only ever sat upon it when he was injured, often severely, and forced to bandage himself up with the gauze in the cabinet, taking laudanum bottles from the shelves until the pain ebbed away. Today, however, he took nothing from the cabinet. He sat on the edge of the sofa, next to the boy, and the boy looked up at him.

“Are you a doctor?” the boy whispered. He must have seen the cabinet, and all the various knives and syringes and bottles within it. Shiro knew the boy did not really believe he was a doctor. But he also knew the boy did not want to consider the alternatives.

“No,” Shiro said. “I’m not.”

“What are you going to do to me?” the boy asked, a tremor in his voice.

“Take off your shirt,” Shiro told him.

The boy blanched. “Or what?”

“Or I will,” Shiro said tiredly.

The boy opened his mouth to reply but doubled over coughing instead, curling into a tight ball in the couch. Shiro waited it out, until the bout subsided and the boy lay there, exhausted, breaths ragged. “Just do it,” the boy whispered, closing his eyes. “I don’t care.”

Shiro frowned, but reached for the hem of the nightshirt, and true to his word the boy didn’t protest when Shiro slid it up and over his head.

Shiro faltered. He had been mistaken.

The boy was a man.

He swallowed. Yes, consumption may have made him smaller and weaker, but there was no doubt that it was a man, not a boy, sprawled on the sofa under him. His body was lean, not soft, roughened and shaped by years of hard factory work, chest and abdomen defined in sharp muscle, hipbones jutting in a clean v shape above the hem of his underwear.

His chest rose and fell unevenly as he stared up at Shiro, eyes narrowed and face flushed despite the sickly ashen cast of his skin. “Stop staring,” he snapped, the note of fear in his voice bright and unmistakable.

“How old are you?” Shiro asked him.

“Nineteen,” he said after a moment of hesitation, expression wary. He wet his bloodied, chapped lips.

“And do you have a name?”

“…Keith,” he said.

“Keith,” Shiro repeated. “Well, Keith, I will not lie to you. This is not going to be pleasant.” Keith’s eyes widened. “But it might save your life,” he added.

Keith’s mouth twisted. “And…and if it doesn’t?”

“Then it will kill you,” Shiro said simply. “But the dying isn’t the unpleasant part.”

“I – I don’t understand –”

“You don’t need to,” Shiro said, and in a single second, he followed the beat of Keith’s pulse in his chest to its source and bit down as hard as he could, into his aorta.

Keith screamed hoarsely, body going ramrod-straight under Shiro’s mouth, hands flying to Shiro’s head and nails clawing uselessly at his scalp, trying to push him off. Shiro yanked his hands away and pinned his thin wrists to the sofa easily with one clawed hand, fangs sinking in deeper, blood flowing hotly into his mouth. Shiro’s eyes fluttered shut at the taste – it was _good_ , shockingly good, warm and rich like chocolate and cherries, sweet and tart all at once.

Keith had been weak to begin with, so Shiro wasn’t surprised when he soon stopped fighting, a faint gasp slipping past his lips as his body went limp, the frantic pound of his heart only serving to hasten his death as it pumped more and more blood onto Shiro’s tongue. Shiro was dizzy, overwhelmed – he’d never bitten someone’s heart before, he’d never taken this much blood straight from the source. But he knew, in theory, how turning worked – the victim had to be drained entirely.

Keith’s heart was failing, stuttering, his breath shallowing and then ceasing altogether. Shiro didn’t know how long he’d been feeding, only that there was blood soaking through his coat and the sofa and covering his face and he couldn’t find it in himself to care. His belly was full, but he kept drinking, greedy, claws digging into Keith’s wrists and curling possessively around his hip. It was only when he felt that he might actually burst that he lifted his head, panting, staring at the now sluggish flow of crimson from Keith’s chest.

Keith was dead. Eyes half-open and glazed over, lips parted in shock, with red rivulets running from either corner of his mouth. And still he bled, so profusely that Shiro couldn’t look away, entranced, until the steady flow slowed and narrowed to a trickle, and then, eventually, to nothing at all.

Shiro was not normally a messy eater. But this, this was a literal bloodbath. It looked like a crime scene, the red lurid against Keith’s pale skin. Shiro regarded him with a tilted head for a few moments, lips curling into a smug smirk. The color looked good on him.

But he sobered as he remembered the next part. This wasn’t over yet. Hopefully.

Yes, strange as it was, Shiro found that he would be unhappy if this failed, if Keith stayed dead.

Shiro lifted his own wrist to his mouth and slashed his fangs over it with a hiss. His blood was darker than Keith’s, more maroon than crimson, almost black when the droplets landed on Keith’s lips. It wasn’t enough. So Shiro pressed his wrist fully against Keith’s mouth, letting his own blood fill it and slide down the human’s throat. Shiro didn’t really know what he was doing. But he had tried, at least. And so he waited.

Nothing happened. Keith remained dead, still, empty-eyed, and Shiro folded his arms in irritation. He didn’t want to send the maids down here – he might have been a taciturn and occasionally rude master; but he wasn’t such a sadist that he would not only expose them to such a horrific murder, but also force them to clean up after him. Which meant he would have to deal with it, alone. Alone, as usual. As he would be forever, apparently –

Keith jerked violently. Shiro leapt to his feet, eyes wide, but not as wide as Keith’s when he screamed, different from the first time. This time, his scream was _agonized_ , not afraid; raw and terrible, and something inside Shiro responded to it at once. He went to Keith’s side, curling over him on the sofa, stroking his clammy skin soothingly and making low sounds in his throat. Keith arched under him, eyes rolling back in his head, hands scrabbling at the cushions, and with delight Shiro saw claws burst from his fingertips, shredding through the fabric. It was working. _It was actually working._

Keith _wailed_. There were tears streaking through the blood on his face, and Shiro wiped them away with his thumbs. Keith clutched at him, claws breaking skin, burning scratches of pain and heat. Shiro didn’t mind. He wasn’t going to leave. He had been alone during his turning. There had been no one, no sire, not even another vampire, to comfort him – only the cold walls of his cell. So he would be here for Keith, now. He could do this, at least, even if he had no idea what came afterwards.

“Shhh, shh, it’s alright, I’ve got you, Keith, Keith, Keith,” Shiro murmured into his ear, his ear which was lengthening, tapering into a curved point as Keith writhed and sobbed wordlessly. He was still grabbing at Shiro, and Shiro realized he was trying to pull him closer, not push him away. Shiro nuzzled against Keith’s neck in reply, and that actually seemed to calm him, his screams lowering in volume, reduced to pained cries and gasps, and, after a while, just labored breathing and occasional whines.

“Hurts,” Keith moaned, a bead of sweat sliding down his jaw. Shiro fought the urge to lick it away.

“I know,” Shiro said, hand curling into his thick, black hair, and Keith went boneless, eyes closing. He continued to shake with the pain, but Shiro could tell it was better than before. Now, the pain was dampened by hunger – Shiro saw it in Keith’s eyes when they opened again, blazing, bright gold. He growled, twisting under Shiro and tearing at the sofa again, and when his lips parted, the clean white tips of his new fangs peeked out. Shiro’s chest swelled with pride.

Keith growled louder, baring his teeth fiercely at Shiro and then immediately seeming to regret it, cowering and turning his face into the cushions like he expected Shiro to punish him. A part of Shiro did bristle at such a show of insolence from the one he had just sired, but the unexpected attachment he felt towards Keith far outweighed it. He rumbled low in his throat, a sound he had never made before but one that felt right, and stroked Keith’s hair reassuringly. Keith made a small noise, a whimper that was both hungry and apologetic, and leaned into his touch.

“Shh, shh,” Shiro said. “I know what you need.” He cursed himself for not giving Keith a fresh first meal, but he would bring one back soon. For now, he rose from the sofa, shushing Keith again when he whined and squirmed, and found one of the wine bottles he’d specially marked and kept on ice. He uncorked it, walked back to the sofa, and watched Keith’s pupils dilate hugely, his mouth falling open and salivating. But Keith stayed on the sofa obediently, even though he was practically vibrating with need.

“Drink,” Shiro told him, though he hardly needed direction, and tipped the bottle back for him, holding Keith in place while he fed desperately, the blood glugging out down his throat. Keith downed the bottle in just a few minutes, and although he hardly looked sated, he’d had enough to tide him over until Shiro brought back a proper meal. Hopefully.

Keith was barely conscious when Shiro got a clean rag from the medicine cabinet and started wiping the blood off both of them as best he’d could. He’d need a real bath to get it all off, but Shiro wouldn’t risk letting the maids bathe Keith until he was fully fed. He liked his current maids, and it would be a shame if he had to get new ones. So he tried to make Keith presentable on his own. That was a little difficult to do, though, because Keith looked like death warmed over. That _was_ basically what had just transpired, after all.

Shiro manhandled him back into his nightshirt in an attempt to hide the angry red bite marks blooming over his heart. They were scabbing over, which was a good sign, but Shiro felt the need to shield them from prying eyes nonetheless. They marked Keith as _his_ in a bold and almost obscene way, much like the way his scent clung to Keith’s skin as Shiro bundled him back up in his arms and left the cellar with him. Shiro frowned to himself – had his scent always been so strong? He’d never noticed it before. With some trepidation, Shiro wondered if he had made a mistake in turning Keith so hastily.

But it hadn’t felt like a mistake at the time.

Shiro ascended the cellar stairs and Keith’s head lolled against his chest. He was out cold. Well. That was…good, Shiro supposed, though he couldn’t help the twinge of worry in his chest. Keith’s heartbeat was fainter than it should be. His body was being forced to do double the work – it had to both transform him and heal him. Shiro only hoped he was strong enough to survive it.

When Shiro strode out into the parlor, the two maids were already waiting anxiously. No doubt they’d heard the horrific noises from the cellar, because they looked relieved yet puzzled to see Keith alive and apparently uninjured.

Shiro eyed them coolly. “Sofia. Marisol. I apologize for waking you at such an hour.”

Both of them shook their heads hastily. “Oh, no, sir, it is no trouble,” Sofia said. “Shall we return to bed, or –”

“Not yet, no. Please prepare the west guest bedroom for our…guest.”

The maids’ eyes widened. Shiro did not have guests. Ever.

“Of course, sir,” Marisol replied, managing to recover from her shock faster than Sofia. “We will, at once.”

“Make the bed with fresh linens so he can rest. Promptly, please.”

The maids nodded and scurried upstairs. Shiro sighed and sat down on the settee with Keith in his lap. He was shaking again, skin breaking out in goosebumps, and Shiro was startled to realize that he could feel something like pain, too – like an echo of Keith’s, an ache in his limbs and a throb in his chest, where he’d bitten. Was the bond between sires and their progeny really so strong?

Shiro wouldn’t know. He had no sire.

“We are done, sir!” Sofia called down several minutes later.

Shiro went upstairs with Keith in his arms, ignoring the maids’ continuing confusion as they timidly watched him tuck a still-unresponsive Keith into bed. Shiro turned back to face them and they pretended they hadn’t been staring.

“I am locking the door to this room,” Shiro informed them both in a steady voice. “I am going out again, and will return soon. Do not attempt to enter this room, no matter what you may hear within it. I am telling you this for your own safety. Do you understand?”

“Yes, sir,” they said, exchanging subtly baffled looks.

“Good,” Shiro said, and ushered them out, withdrawing his keys from the ring in his pocket and turning the silver guest bedroom key in the lock with a click. He could have sworn Keith said his name before he left, but neither of the maids seemed to have heard a thing. Speaking of which, the maids weren’t going back to bed, but instead hesitated awkwardly on the landing. Shiro raised an eyebrow. “Yes?”

“Excuse me, sir,” Marisol said, “but…may we ask how long this guest will be staying?”

Shiro considered the question. “I hope,” he said, “that he will be staying for a long time. A very long time indeed.”

The maids brightened up at that. “May we ask the guest’s name, sir?” Sofia asked.

“His name is Keith,” Shiro replied simply, and turned to go back downstairs, back to the city, back to the hunt.

*

It had taken some searching, but eventually Shiro had found a suitable meal for Keith. The man was middle-aged and athletic, with a scent like smoked hazelnuts and cedar wood. He had strong blood, or so Shiro hoped; strong enough to help Keith through his turning. Shiro didn’t want to think about Keith dying now. Every fiber of his being rebelled against it – he vowed to do anything he could to be a good sire and provide for Keith while he was so vulnerable.

So Shiro used his thrall on the man and brought him back to the house without a mark on him, just a hazy look in his eyes and a vacant smile on his face. Shiro didn’t like to look at it. It was eerie. Wrong. Like a puppet. But it made it much easier to bring him inside and upstairs to the guest bedroom. Arthur and the maids had wisely retired for the night, so none of them were witness to the stranger’s entrance.

Shiro stood outside the guest bedroom door and listened carefully. There was nothing but slow, labored breathing. Cautiously, he unlocked it, and coaxed the man inside, the door locking behind them.

Keith stirred on the bed, letting out a low, piteous whine. His yellow eyes flared open as they fixed on the man, the meal, that Shiro had so generously provided for him. But he still looked to Shiro for permission, uncertain.

“Yes,” Shiro said. “Can you stand?”

Keith tried, and wobbled dangerously before toppling back down onto the bed. Fussing like a mother hen, Shiro hurried to his side and helped him walk the short distance from the bed to the single chair in the room. “Sit,” Shiro said, and Keith sat, or rather slumped, down into the chair.

The meal waited patiently, until Shiro turned to it and ordered, “Come here,” and it did, without hesitation, standing in front of Keith with that same empty smile.

Keith whined again. _Hungry, hungry, hungry._

“Yes,” Shiro told him again, and without further preamble, Keith lunged from the chair in a shocking, sudden burst of energy, and sank his fangs into the meal’s neck. Shiro blinked, taken aback – he had vague memories of being starving after his transformation, and knew that new vampires were supposed to be ferocious creatures that relied on instinct…but this was not what he’d expected from sickly, frail Keith.

The meal’s knees gave out like cut strings and it crumpled soundlessly to the ground. Keith snarled and tore at its throat viciously until Shiro growled in warning – _don’t make a mess in the house._ It didn’t do much good – Keith was covered in blood all over again, except this time it wasn’t his own, and he was cleaning it off of his wrists and palms with long, slow, rapturous laps of his tongue, and. And. Shiro mentally counted to ten. _Don’t_ , he warned himself. _Don’t give yourself one more thing to loathe yourself for._

Keith fed without pause, until either the meal was drained or he was full or both. Either way it was dead, and flopped lifelessly out of Keith’s grasp. Keith sort of flopped down, too, pupils dilated and eyes half-lidded, lips cherry red and swollen. He looked at Shiro blearily as he hefted him to his feet and guided him into the washroom, and from there into the tub. Blood smeared across the white porcelain, and Shiro looked away, turning the spigot on with an unnecessary amount of force.

Keith yelped at the rush of cold water and sat there dumbly, shivering as his nightshirt turned translucent, before Shiro grumbled and peeled the shirt and his underwear off of him. Keith was sinking back into unconsciousness, and barely reacted. Shiro was very much conscious and knew all too well that _he_ reacted at the sight of Keith’s body, much as he wished he wouldn’t. It had been too long, that was all.

Shiro dumped half the bottle of soap into the tub so the bubbles would prevent him from staring. The faster Keith was clean and tucked back into bed, the more of Shiro’s sanity would be preserved. So he scrubbed quickly at the blood around Keith’s mouth and on his hands, until the washrag was stained burgundy, the water was brown, and Keith’s skin was pale pink from the harsh rub of the cloth.

Shiro pulled the plug and watched the water drain away, leaving Keith freezing and exposed again, his knees curling up to his chest and arms crossing over them protectively. Yet he was still too weak to stand, and it was with gritted teeth that Shiro lifted him up and out of the bath, one hand on the backs of Keith’s thighs and the other wrapped securely around his shoulders. His skin was softened by the water, and Shiro had a brief and sudden desire to drag his tongue across it and taste – so sudden that it frightened him. It had been a long time since he had wanted to taste anything that wasn’t blood.

Again, he wondered what exactly had happened when he’d turned Keith. Something within him had changed, that much Shiro knew, though he didn’t yet understand it. Everything felt off-kilter, like he’d been torn into pieces and stitched back together wrong, and every time he looked at Keith’s face and felt Keith’s skin against his own, the stitches stretched and threatened to break apart, and break Shiro apart with them.

He dressed Keith in the pajamas the maids had left in the wardrobe – fine, clean gray flannel that would keep him warm and comfortable as he rested for however long his body needed to in the coming days. Shiro tucked him in and smoothed the hair away from his sleeping face, frowning down at him, and wondering if he had done the right thing.

In his heart he knew the answer was no. The truth was that he had done it not to save Keith’s life, but to save himself from loneliness. The truth was that Shiro was a selfish, cruel creature who knew that no one could bear to stay with him voluntarily, so he’d snatched a dying factory worker off the streets and forced him to stay here instead.

Of course Keith might try to leave when he was well again…if he was ever well again. And though Shiro’s chest contracted painfully at the thought…he may have been selfish, but he was not in the habit of keeping captives. Shiro had already taken one choice away from Keith by turning him. He would not deprive him of his freedom, too. Shiro knew what it was like to be chained, to be locked away in a cell with no hope of escape. He would not wish such a fate on anyone, except perhaps the ones who had imprisoned him in the first place.

So he would wait until Keith had healed – because he _would_ heal, he _must_ – and then Shiro would explain to him what he had become. Shiro grimaced. That was sure to be a positively _fantastic_ conversation. And afterwards, Keith could decide for himself what he wanted to do with his eternity. It wasn’t a difficult decision. If Shiro was in his position…he knew what he would choose.

Shiro disposed of the body, bile rising in his throat, and he didn’t know if it was caused by the sickening brush of cold, dead skin or the loathing he felt within himself.

*

Shiro slept badly that day, locked in the master bedroom as usual with the heavy velvet curtains drawn, burying his face in one of the eiderdown pillows and halfheartedly trying and failing to smother himself as he tossed and turned. He’d learned a long time ago that asphyxiation didn’t work on vampires; it just made his chest burn painfully. So he lay there half on his side, half on his belly, staring into the shadows and thinking.

Brooding, more like. Shiro did a lot of that, these days. It was pretty pathetic.

He could still taste Keith’s blood in his mouth, taste the last remnants of the humanity Shiro had stolen from him. Shiro didn’t think he’d ever forget that taste, or the sound Keith had made when the transformation ripped through his body. He squeezed his eyes shut, remembering other sounds, other screams, echoing through an arena with every seat filled, vampires leaning forward with hungry yellow eyes as Shiro’s claws and teeth tore into soft flesh, hot blood spraying across the sand as the crowd roared with approval –

His eyes snapped open, his breath short and panicky, and he groaned, rubbing his face and rolling onto his back. What had he been thinking? He couldn’t even take care of himself, much less another vampire.

*

Shiro ended up sleeping the whole day and most of that night, as he often did after a large meal. He was awoken by hunger, but for once it was not his own – _Keith_ , he thought instinctively, and was out of bed at once, hastily dressing himself and peering at the grandfather clock in the hall on his way out. He tentatively scented the air, worried that he might smell a fresh kill upstairs – but no, his servants were safely asleep in their beds, and so was Keith, though the hunger would probably wake him soon.

Shiro shifted as soon as he was outside, bounding through the undergrowth faster than he ever could in his original form. Perhaps one of the only good things to come from his turning was his ability to become a cat. Shiro had always rather liked cats – cleaner than dogs, with a streak of independence that resisted true domestication or ownership. They were not man’s best friend; they were no one’s best friend but their own. Cats had the right idea.

Like vampires, cats were also creatures of the shadows. Shiro walked through the city unseen on his four silent paws, leaping from rooftop to rooftop and stealthily avoiding any stray dogs or malicious beggars with bottles to throw. He had run into a dog once. It hadn’t ended well for the dog.

Shiro found himself once more in the warehouse district, which was beginning to stir so close to sunrise. Shiro cast a wary eye open the lightening horizon and peered down into the street, tail flicking and head tilted critically as he watched burly men lift and move various crates. He could barely make out their idle chatter, talk of pubs and prostitutes and other such pointless things, but his ears pricked at the conversation between two of the closest men, both bearded with dark skin.

“Hear about the murders on Hartnell Street last night?” the taller one said.

“What? What kinda murders?”

“Bloody. Said their throats were slit. Three of ‘em.”

Another man joined in, wiping at his soot stained face and declaring, “Slit? Nah, I heard they was torn, real messy like.”

“Christ, think it was some kinda animal? Cougar, maybe?”

“Wasn’t no animal,” the tall man said. “There was symbols carved in ‘em. Occult symbols, I heard.”

“Like witchcraft?” the short man asked incredulously. “Teddy, shove off, this ain’t Salem. You been drinkin’ too much again.”

“Nah, that’s what the coppers said!” Teddy insisted. “Tryin’ to keep it hush hush, but I know what I heard, Bobby. Said there was occult symbols, ‘n somethin’ else…whatever killed ‘em, it drained their blood.”

“All of it?” the soot-faced man exclaimed. Teddy nodded. “Shit. Dunno any cougar can do that.”

“Maybe we got our own Ripper, huh?” Bobby said. “The Redding Ripper. Ring to it, don’tcha think?”

“Hartnell’s close to here, ain’t it?” the soot-faced man said nervously. “Coppers think there’s gonna be more murders?”

“If they’re like the Ripper, sure,” Teddy said. “But the victims weren’t nothin’ like us. Know how the Ripper only killed painted ladies? Well, this ‘un only killed boys.”

“Boys?” Tommy snorted. “ _We’re_ boys, Ted, or didja forget? You’s right, Bobby, he needs’ta lay off the whiskey.”

“Nah, I mean _boys_ , like the young ‘uns on the assembly line. Young enough that their voices ain’t even broke yet. Boys.” Teddy nodded to Bobby. “Like your son’s age, what’s he, twelve now?”

“He ain’t but ten,” Bobby said, looking troubled. “Well, what’re them coppers doin’ about it?”

Teddy shrugged. “What they always do. Go back to solvin’ the rich folks’ crimes instead.”

“While our boys die?” Bobby demanded.

“While our boys die.”

_Enjoying the conversation, Champion?_

Stiffening at the familiar voice in his head, Shiro whirled to face a falcon perched several feet away, yellow eyes pupilless and glowing faintly. He hissed, ears flattening and tail lashing behind him, which only seemed to amuse the Galra soldier. One of Lotor’s lieutenants, though not his closest or strongest.  
Shiro was not afraid of him. _Haxus. You’re a long ways from home._

 _I could say the same of you. The sun will be here soon – I wonder, Champion, what is keeping you hunting so late?_ Haxus cocked his head, beak clicking in mocking amusement. _Perhaps you have an extra mouth to feed?_

 _Perhaps you should recall what cats do to birds who annoy them,_ Shiro retorted.

Haxus narrowed his beady eyes. _That wasn’t a no, Champion._

 _Did Haggar kill those children?_ Shiro demanded.

 _Children,_ Haxus scoffed. _Must you give them such labels? They are all prey, no matter their age. Though the young ones do have the sweetest blood._

Shiro unsheathed his claws and Haxus’s wings fluttered anxiously. The falcon was about the same size as him, but they both knew Shiro could shift much, much larger than this. _Put those away, you savage beast,_ Haxus snapped. _You know as well as I do that Haggar did it, and why she did it. Why do the Druids do anything? For their experiments._

_But why children?_

Haxus lifted his beak imperiously. _Why should I tell you? You’re not one of us. You were never more than a circus freak, a prized slave, a well-trained animal. Until your usefulness ran out._

 _Funny,_ Shiro said, _I imagine that’s exactly how Prince Lotor thinks of you._

Haxus glared, and with smug satisfaction Shiro knew he’d hit a nerve. _You’ve attracted the Prince’s attention, Champion. And as we both know, that is never a good thing. Farewell._ Haxus spread his wings and dove off the rooftop, soaring off over the smoking chimneys, towards the trees.

Shiro’s smugness quickly faded when he realized the sun was about to rise. Damn. He hoped Keith could be content with old cellar blood for the time being as he reluctantly turned tail and ran back home.

*

The sun rose just as Shiro reached the front door, and he ducked inside before the bright rays could reach him. He paused as soon as the door shut – something was amiss. He didn’t have long to ponder what it could be because the next second there was a resounding _bang_ and a woman’s scream from upstairs. Fearing the worst, Shiro ran to the guest bedroom, bracing himself for a bloody mess…but the door was still locked, and Sofia and Marisol were standing outside, covering their mouths as Keith swore vehemently and pounded on the door.

Stunned, Shiro turned to the maids, who stared at him with wide eyes that betrayed their conflict – he’d told them not to open the door, but Keith clearly did not want to be in there. Luckily for them, they’d listened to him – if they hadn’t, they’d probably be dead.

“How long has he been awake?” Shiro demanded.

Sofia shook her head. “I – he just started yelling, sir, and we hurried up to see what was the matter and – he’s saying awful things, sir,” she stammered.

Shiro’s eyes narrowed. “What sort of things?”

The pounding paused briefly before Keith resumed in earnest, yelling all the while. “Is that you?! It is, isn’t it? Let me out, you sick _bastard_ , you can’t keep me in here forever!”

“Please calm down,” Shiro replied, laying his palm upon the door. Anger prickled through him, and it was Keith’s, he was _furious_ , so furious that Shiro was taken aback. Was this the same Keith from the other night? That Keith had been defeated and desperate. This Keith was full of fire.

“ _CALM DOWN?! FUCK YOU!_ ” Keith screamed, the entire door shaking when he kicked it.

Sofia and Marisol winced in unison. “Those sorts of things,” Sofia said.

“I see.” Shiro rubbed his temple. He had definitely made a mistake. “Thank you for not opening the door. Keeping him in there is for your own safety, remember?”

The maids blanched. “Is he dangerous, sir?” Marisol asked tentatively.

From the other side of the door, Keith started laughing hysterically. “Oh, that’s _rich_ , you’re asking the damned brute who _kidnapped and murdered me_ if _I’m_ dangerous! Ha!”

“Is he mad?” Sofia whispered.

“He’s distressed and confused, that’s all,” Shiro said, ushering them away from the door. “Go take your breakfast downstairs with Arthur and Pierre. I’ll tend to this...situation.”

“You stay _away_ from me!” Keith shouted, and Shiro heard him stumbling away from the door as soon as he took ahold of the doorknob and turned the key in the lock.

“Yes, sir,” Sofia and Marisol said, and hurried away, grateful for the dismissal.

As soon as they were safely downstairs, Shiro opened the door and quickly shut it behind him, unable to stop his jaw from dropping at the scene of absolute chaos before him.

Keith had smashed everything smashable in the room, from the looks of it, and ripped the sheets from the bed, literally ripped – his claws were out and they had great ragged tears all through them that ran as deep as the mattress. The rug was rumpled up, the curtains had holes in them, the dresser was upended, and Shiro wouldn’t have been surprised if he’d shattered the bathtub, too. (Thankfully, he had not.)

Keith himself was pressed against the far wall, shaking, eyes blazing yellow and full of utter, unadulterated hatred. Shiro could see at once that despite all the damage he’d caused, Keith was still not at full strength – he was exhausted, panting shallowly, with dark circles under his eyes and a marked slump to his frame. Shiro took a step forward and Keith hissed, pinning back his ears and baring his fangs.

“Not one step closer,” Keith warned, his voice cracking and betraying his fear, or it would have if his scent hadn’t already done so as soon as Shiro entered the room.

Shiro obliged, stopping where he was, but he tilted his head and let Keith see his fangs and claws, too. Keith flinched back at the sight, breath catching and eyes flickering. “I understand you must have questions,” Shiro said. “I am here to answer them.”

Keith sneered. “I don’t have anything to ask you,” he snapped. “I’m _telling_ you to let me out, right now! I don’t know who you are, or where we are, or what…what you did to me, but I don’t care, I just want to leave –”

“I’m afraid you simply cannot leave yet,” Shiro said. “It isn’t safe.”

“Safe,” Keith repeated. He shook his head frantically. “You’re insane.”

“No,” Shiro said. “My name is Mr. Shirogane, and –”

“I don’t _care_ what your name is!” Keith shouted. “What about the name of the man you made me kill, huh, what was his name?!”

Shiro frowned. “I did not _make_ you do that,” he said. “You were begging me to let you feed. So I did.”

“Shut up,” Keith whispered, face ashen. “You _are_ a demon.”

“Have you looked in a mirror recently?” Shiro retorted. He glanced to the shattered mirror atop the dresser. “Oh. Nevermind, you destroyed that, too.”

Keith glowered at him. “I’ll destroy every single thing I can find until you let me out.”

“You need to feed again,” Shiro said.

“No,” Keith gasped, “no, don’t ever make me do that again –”

“Make you do what? Want their blood?”

“Stop!” Keith cried, panicky, claws digging into the wallpaper. “Don’t. Please, don’t. Just…just let me go.”

Shiro frowned and started towards him. “I already told you I can’t do that yet. Just let me explain –”

Keith looked up at him as he approached, lower lip trembling, and Shiro reached out to him cautiously. For a moment he thought Keith would accept the touch, would actually listen to him…but then Keith leapt forward and buried a long, jagged shard of glass in Shiro’s chest.

Shiro didn’t even stumble. He just gritted his teeth against the aching bloom of pain and looked down at Keith, who was now against his chest, still holding the glass and staring in disbelief when Shiro took ahold of his wrist and wrenched it away, the glass coming with it, clattering to the floor loudly with a slow trickle of black blood.

Keith looked up at him, eyes huge. Shiro slammed him against the wall, done playing nice. “That hurt, Keith,” he growled. “I’d advise you not to do that again.”

“H-how – you – you’re not –”

“Dead? No.” Shiro’s grip on his wrists tightened, making Keith feel the needle-sharp tips of his claws, satisfied when it made him tremble. “I died nearly a century ago. And then I was brought back, in much the same way as you were.”

“You killed me,” Keith whispered.

“No,” Shiro retorted, “whoever infected you with consumption killed you. I only hastened the inevitable. I gave you a fast, humane death. And then I turned you. I brought you back. You should be thanking me, not stabbing me.”

“I didn’t want this,” Keith argued, “I didn’t ask for this –”

“You did,” Shiro said. “I was just going to kill you. But then you asked me to let you live.”

“Not like this,” Keith said, swallowing. “Not – not as a monster, not with you as my…my…”

“I am your sire,” Shiro finished for him. “The one who turned you. I will always be your sire. There is no escaping that, now.”

“So – so what,” Keith choked out, “you’re just going to keep me locked in here forever?”

“For now,” Shiro said. “Until you learn.”

“Learn?” Keith echoed incredulously. “Learn what, my lesson?”

“Learn how to control your hunger and yourself,” Shiro corrected. He tapped one of Keith’s claws with one of his own, a hollow sound. “You cannot very well march into town like this.”

Keith’s fingers curled into fists. “I’d like to see you try and stop me.”

“No,” Shiro said, “you wouldn’t.” Keith gulped, gaze lowering, stubbornly avoiding Shiro’s face. “Keith, I apologize for turning you the way I did. But you aren’t sick anymore – take solace in that.”

“I am sick,” Keith whispered, glancing up at him with brows drawn together. “But in a different way, now. A worse way. And it’s _your_ fault.”

Shiro shook his head and released Keith, stepping away. “Get some rest,” he said. “And don’t try to run, please. You’ll burn your skin badly in the sunlight.”

He left the room, unable to forget the expression on Keith’s face.

*

Keith was hungry. So, so hungry. Shiro was painfully aware of it. But he would not eat, would not feed even when Shiro returned to his room that afternoon with an uncorked bottle of blood. Keith had not moved from where he was curled listlessly in the ruined bed, never looking at Shiro, ignoring the rumbling of his stomach. Shiro knew he would have to force-feed Keith eventually, if he kept this up, but he didn’t want to resort to that. It would just make Keith hate him more.

Maybe a more experienced, better sire would know what to do, but Shiro did not. He felt helpless as he lay in his own bed, wondering how long it would take for Keith to snap. Vampires were reduced to little more than beasts when they were starving – Shiro had been starved by the Galra a few times, when he’d been a young vampire. They’d used his hunger as a means to control him – it hadn’t been difficult. For all their power, vampires were simple creatures at heart. Shiro just didn’t want to see Keith reduced to that.

He rarely slept at night, but he’d been too worried about Keith to sleep at all that day, so Shiro found himself in bed as the sun went down. During nights like this, he tried to remember when he had been human. It was more and more difficult with every passing day, but sometimes he could recall bits and pieces, faint flashes of memory that he clung to.

He ached most to remember his home, Osaka, with its bustling port and the hundreds of ships he had always watched from his home as a child, exclaiming over the colors on their sails and the men who embarked upon them. He could not remember his father’s face – he had been gone so often that it had been blurry even when Shiro was young – but sometimes he could recall parts of his mother’s. Her hair, long and black, falling over her shoulders like a silkscreen when she unpinned it before bed. Her lips, painted red as blood, soft yet firm upon his brow; just like her hands when they’d clung to him with a kind of subdued desperation before he boarded the ship that would never come back.

Sometimes Shiro wondered if she’d known, somehow, that they would not see each other again. He wondered what she’d done when they’d given her the news – if they’d ever given her the news. Maybe she’d died not knowing what had happened to her son. Maybe she’d died still hoping he was alive, traveling the seas, the adventurer he’d always wanted to be.

His mother had spoken often of ghosts, yūrei. Shiro imagined her as one of them, a wandering widow searching hopelessly for her dead son. Sometimes he dreamed of her as a yūrei, dressed in funerary white, her once-beautiful hair swirling around her like a crown of thorns, stretching out her limp arms to him. They were not pleasant dreams. He so rarely had pleasant dreams anymore.

Shiro was jolted from his musings by a sudden _crash_ from down the hall. Keith. He was out of bed and running to the guest room in seconds, though he knew it was too late even before he unlocked the door and saw the shattered window. He hurried over to peer out of the now-empty frame – there was no crumpled body lying in the bushes below despite the three-story drop. Shiro squinted, and saw a lone figure running away from the estate, towards the faintly gleaming city lights.

“You idiot,” he groaned, not sure whether he was chastising himself or Keith. Probably both.

Shiro briefly contemplated jumping out the window after him, but ultimately decided taking the stairs was a better idea. He’d made enough bad choices lately as it was. He shifted as soon as he was out the door, racing down the lane, knowing that Keith had a head-start but desperately trying to catch up anyway.

The gravel scraped at his paws so he leapt into the grass instead, lifting his head and trying to catch and follow Keith’s scent. He smelled how his blood had tasted – sweet with a tinge of tartness, sharp and bright in the night air. It was strange – other vampires’ scents tended to be muted, hardly noticeable. But Keith’s was as apparent to him as the most tantalizing human’s.

Shiro followed him into the city, narrowly avoiding a mangy hound out scavenging for scraps, darting across the sidewalk and making a pair of prostitutes shriek with fright, backtracking through alleys and over rooftops until he reached the factory district where he’d found Keith. Shiro managed to pinpoint Keith’s location as he bounded down from a wall and stood in front of the same factory dormitories, his concern reaching a breaking point as the smell of human blood, hot and freshly-spilled, flooded his senses.

Shiro jumped in through the dormitory window…and found Keith kneeling on the dirty floor of the small room, his mouth, shirt, and hands covered in blood, looking down at the mangled remains of a body. The head was nearly severed from the neck, veins and ligaments torn wide open, arteries still weakly spurting blood that sprayed across the single bunkbed and Keith’s hands as he tried uselessly to stop the bleeding. The body was that of a young man who must have been around Keith’s age, with freckled skin, short brown hair, and wide, unseeing blue eyes.

Shiro padded over to stand beside him. _Keith,_ he said.

Keith started violently, grabbing at the body and cradling it as if to protect it. He stared at Shiro, tears shining in his eyes. “I didn’t mean to,” he gasped, voice shaking as badly as he was. “I swear I didn’t mean to!”

 _I know,_ Shiro said, looking up at him pensively. _I tried to warn you. I’m sorry I didn’t reach you sooner._

Keith’s eyes lit up suddenly, and he dropped the body, pushing it towards Shiro. “You can turn him!” he exclaimed, voice still quavering. “Like you turned me, you can bring him back, we can be together again!”

 _No, Keith,_ Shiro told him. _I cannot fix this. There is nothing left in him to turn._

Keith bit his lip hard, stained fangs digging in, cutting it open. “You’re lying,” he whispered, even though they both knew Shiro wasn’t. “You’re – there has to be something, please, please he didn’t deserve this, he doesn’t deserve to be – to be _dead_ –” Keith broke off with a sob, covering his bloody mouth with his equally bloody hand, tears falling despite his best attempts to contain them. “Henry,” he whispered, soft and hopeless, bowing his head. “I killed him. I killed him.”

With more instinct than thought, Shiro shifted again, not to his original form but to his panther, a cat but stronger, a form that could keep Keith safe when he was so vulnerable. Keith stopped crying for a moment to look up at him, lips parting in helpless confusion and eyes round with fear.

Shiro said without speaking, _We must go, Keith._

Keith shook his head and clutched Henry’s body tighter. “I can’t leave him here,” Keith said. “Don’t make me leave him here.”

_Keith._

“Please,” Keith begged, “please, you can do whatever you want with me, you can keep me locked in that room forever, you can make me drink blood, but don’t make me leave him like this, Mr. Shirogane, please!”

Shiro tilted his head, and knew Keith did not want his pity, but couldn’t help himself from pitying him deeply anyway. No, he realized, it was more than pity – it was empathy. It _hurt_ to see Keith hurting. He regarded Keith for a few moments, and then said, _Do you trust me?_

Keith stared at him in disbelief, and barked out a bitter, choked laugh. “No,” he said. “No, I don’t _trust you_ , Mr. Shirogane. You’ve done nothing to make me trust you, _nothing_.”

Fair. _Can you trust me right now?_

Keith wiped a hand over his tear-filled eyes, accidentally smearing more blood across his face. “Do I have a choice?” he asked dully.

 _You do,_ Shiro said, though every instinct screamed against it. _You could run. You could leave right now…and I would not stop you. You have my word._

Keith blinked, clearly not expecting that. He bit his lip. “Or?”

 _Or you could trust me,_ Shiro said, _and I could take you home, and take care of your…friend. And you._

Keith looked back down at Henry, or what was left of him. The flies were already beginning to gather. “Take care of us?” he said in a small voice.

_When we first met, you said you were cast down in life, and asked why you would not be cast down in death also. I will make certain he is not cast down in death, Keith._

Keith looked hopeful, if only for a moment. Then his expression darkened and he said warily, “And what would you do with me?”

Shiro disliked the insinuation in his tone and the fear in his scent. _You’re not my prisoner, Keith,_ he promised. _You would have a home at my estate, for as long as you wanted._

“And…and if I didn’t want?” Keith whispered.

 _Then I would let you leave,_ Shiro said. _I know you do not trust me, Keith. But I did this to you, I turned you; and now I wish to help you through it, if you will let me. That is all._ That was not all. Shiro did not want to let him go; Shiro had never wanted anything less. Shiro did not want to go back to lonely days and lonely nights and a house full of humans who tiptoed around him as if walking on eggshells.

But Keith swallowed, and to Shiro’s surprise and relief, nodded and got to his feet unsteadily. “Fine,” he whispered, casting one last glance back at Henry and bowing his head in defeat. “Fine, Mr. Shirogane. Help me.”

As pleas went, it was not particularly genuine. But Keith’s shoulders were shaking again and he was hiding his face, clearly on the verge of more tears, so Shiro understood he was trying to put on a front, a last defense, an attempt to hide his grief and uncertainty from this powerful, monstrous stranger.

 _Come, then,_ Shiro said, lowering his body and looking pointedly at Keith. Keith’s lips parted and he blanched. _Do not be frightened. You will not fall._

Obviously, Keith was afraid of more than just falling off, but he came forward slowly, and then faster once the distinct sound of footsteps and voices came near. Panicking, he climbed hastily onto Shiro’s back, pulling too hard on his fur and making him growl, pausing when Keith whispered a shaky, terrified apology and hunched closer to his neck, trembling. “Please go,” he mumbled. “Please, please, just leave this place.”

 _Yes,_ Shiro agreed, and pushed his way out the door, leaving it open for some unlucky person to find the corpse within. Keith’s body twisted slightly as he looked back, and then he let out a choked sob and there were tears on Shiro’s neck as he bounded down the street, away from the factories. He kept to the shadows as much as he could but he was more concerned with getting Keith home as quickly as possible than remaining unseen.

So it was that he reached the estate and didn’t think twice about scaling the wall to reach Keith’s empty bedroom window. Keith let out a startled yelp and clutched at him for dear life as Shiro jumped the full three stories, scrabbling briefly at the windowsill and cutting his paws on the jagged glass, not much caring – Keith was home, and safe, and that was what mattered.

Keith scrambled off of him, wide-eyed, tears streaking his bloodied face. “Can I do that?” he asked, staring at Shiro’s unsheathed claws and the muscle rippling under his black pelt as he padded across the room.

 _Not yet,_ Shiro replied, faintly amused. _Vampires have many abilities which can take a long time to manifest._

“Vampire,” Keith repeated, and slumped against the wardrobe numbly. “Oh, Christ.” He slapped a hand over his mouth at once, and then blinked. “We can say the Lord’s name?”

Shiro rolled his eyes as best a panther could. _We can say whatever we want. You have much to learn. Wait here, I will be back soon._

Keith faltered. “Where…where are you going?” If he sounded a little disappointed, well, that must have been Shiro’s imagination.

 _When I shift back, my clothing does not shift with me,_ Shiro explained. Keith flushed bright red. It was…rather adorable, actually. _I assumed you would prefer I shifted and dressed myself in the privacy of my own bedroom. Wouldn’t you?_

“Yes,” Keith snapped, folding his arms, still red. “So – so you’re naked right now?”

 _I am an animal right now,_ Shiro said, nonplussed. _All animals are naked…well, except for those unfortunate lapdogs whose owners bundle them up into little costumes with ribbons and frills to coo over. But I am hardly a lapdog, and I will have you know that any attempts to dress me up will be most unwelcome._

Keith was smiling, but when Shiro noticed it he hastily scowled and looked away. “Go, then,” he muttered. “You strange, naked beast.” His mouth twitched. Content with that, Shiro left the room.

*

Keith was still in his room when Shiro returned fully dressed. It felt like a small victory, even if Keith’s shoulders were hunched and he was frowning and red-eyed again. “I’ll run a bath for you,” Shiro said, and Keith startled so badly he almost knocked the only unbroken lamp in the room off the nightstand. “Apologies, I thought you heard me come in.”

“How could I, you’re silent as a ghost,” Keith gasped.

“So are you, if you try to be,” Shiro countered lightly, gesturing for him to follow him into the bathroom. “You must learn to adapt to your new senses. They’re far superior to any human’s.”

Keith followed hesitantly, standing off to the side as Shiro turned on the water and watching with wide eyes as it poured from the spigot and into the tub. Shiro glanced at him. “A little different from the bathing facilities at the factory, hm?”

Keith’s frown deepened and he didn’t meet Shiro’s eye. “A little,” he said under his breath.

“Well, don’t be shy. The water is warm.”

“It’s September.”

“The pipes are heated,” Shiro said, and Keith’s eyes widened in obvious wonder. “Here, feel.” He put his hand in the water and Keith stepped closer, keeping his hand a safe distance from Shiro’s, fingers curling at the heat.

“Oh,” Keith murmured. “That…that does feel nice.”

“The soap is nice too,” Shiro said, tossing him a bar. Keith caught it and seemed surprised at his ability to do so. Then he gasped at the soap itself. “It’s lavender,” Shiro told him as Keith ran his fingers over the purple soap reverently. “The smell is comforting. It helps with insomnia…supposedly.”

Keith looked back up at him. “Are you going to stay while I bathe?” he snapped.

“Blood is difficult to scrub off,” Shiro said mildly. “And you are quite covered in it.”

Keith looked down at himself and seemed to notice this for the first time. He swallowed, and swayed slightly on his feet. Shiro caught him before he could fall, and Keith was crying again, shallow sobs that sounded ripped out of him. “I killed him,” Keith whispered, “I killed him…”

“Alright, alright,” Shiro sighed, reaching for the hem of his shirt again.

Keith grappled against him, and Shiro didn’t understand why until he snarled, “Don’t hurt me!” and Shiro remembered what he’d done to Keith the last time he’d made him take his shirt off.

“Shhh,” Shiro murmured, putting his hands on Keith’s shoulders to steady him. “Here to help, not hurt. Remember?”

Keith stopped struggling but he was still hardly compliant, and after Shiro got his shirt off he staggered away, stumbling towards the bath with the pajama pants still on, the water blooming with red as soon as he fell into the water. “Henry,” he repeated, dazed, looking down at his stained palms. “I’m – I’m so _sorry_ …”

“None of that, you’ll only make yourself feel worse,” Shiro said, kneeling beside the tub with the soap and a washcloth. “He can’t hear your apologies.”

“Fuck you,” Keith choked out, and then flinched away as if burnt when Shiro brushed the soapy cloth over his bloodied arm. “Stop!”

Shiro stopped, alarmed, and peered at him. “Keith.”

“ _What_ ,” Keith bit out, squeezing his eyes shut miserably.

“Please listen to me,” Shiro said.

Keith cracked his eyes open and glared, though it was halfhearted. “Just spit it out, Mr. Shirogane.”

“Firstly,” Shiro said, “you may call me Shiro.”

“Oh, wonderful,” Keith muttered. “We’re chums now, are we?”

“Secondly,” Shiro continued, ignoring his sass, “I will never touch you if you don’t want me to.” Keith went still. “It is not my intention to make you feel uncomfortable or unsafe in this house. You are my guest, for as long as you would like, and if you truly do not want my company or my help in learning what you are now and what you can do…I will never force that upon you. I dislike seeing you unhappy, so if my presence will make you moreso, I will leave you alone. Do you understand?”

Keith looked down into the water and gave a small nod.

“Say it.”

“Yes,” Keith said, “I understand...Shiro.”

“Good.” Shiro handed him the cloth and stood. Keith blinked up at him. “Well, I will be in my study if you –”

“Wait, don’t go,” Keith blurted, and immediately bit his lip and looked away. Shiro raised an eyebrow. “Please help me clean Henry’s…the blood off,” he whispered.

“If you’re sure,” Shiro said, cautiously kneeling again and putting the cloth to Keith’s skin. He shivered, but didn’t pull away. Satisfied, Shiro began to scrub methodically, and eventually Keith relaxed, though he did not stop staring into the red water. The room was silent save the echoes of the water sloshing against the sides of the tub, both of them barely breathing. Shiro had not been in such close proximity to another vampire for a very long time, and…well, those were not times he remembered fondly.

Perhaps uneasy with the silence, Keith asked, “Why me?”

Shiro didn’t stop scrubbing, and hummed thoughtfully. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “You were bleeding, I smelled it, I found you.”

“Like a shark,” Keith mumbled to himself.

“If I were a shark, you would be in much worse shape.”

Keith didn’t argue with that. “Have…have you turned anyone else?” he asked instead.

“No,” Shiro said, and Keith balked. Anticipating his next question, Shiro added, “The opportunity never presented itself.”

“I don’t think it particularly presented itself with me,” Keith said doubtfully.

Shiro shrugged. “Vampires are driven chiefly by instinct. The night I found you, my instincts told me to turn you rather than kill you. I don’t know what the trigger was. Though it is possible that such siring instincts rear their head once a vampire reaches a certain age.”

“And what is your age?”

“I was turned when I was 23,” Shiro said. “May I wash your hair?”

Keith huffed. “Only if you answer fully.”

“Very well,” Shiro said, lathering soap onto his hands and working it through Keith’s blood-splattered hair. It was a pleasing texture against his fingers, soft and thick, and Keith seemed to lean unconsciously into it. “I was 23 in the year 1813.”

Keith jerked away. “ _1813?!_ ”

Shiro sat back on his heels and sighed. “Yes. You’re dripping all over the floor, please stop staring.”

“B-but that’s…” Keith trailed off and looked embarrassed. “…how old is that?”

“I was turned 96 years ago,” Shiro said. “Which makes me, in total, 119 years old.”

Keith was still staring at him. “You…don’t look that old?” he managed.

“Vampires rarely do,” Shiro chuckled.

“Can…can we die? Do we ever die?” Keith whispered.

“It’s difficult to kill a vampire,” Shiro said simply. “And as for lifespans…some are thousands of years old, but I have heard tales of some very ancient vampires dying, in a way. Losing their corporeal state, anyway.”

“Corporeal state?”

“Their body,” Shiro clarified. “They become more like spirits. Ghosts.”

Keith digested that for a minute. Then he leaned back in the tub and said, “Alright, then.”

“Is it?” Shiro started washing his hair again.

“I don’t know,” Keith said. “I…I meant what I said. I didn’t want to die. I don’t…I don’t know if this is better than dying yet, though.”

Shiro’s heart twisted painfully at that. “I hope,” he said carefully, “that you will find it better. Eventually.”

“Do you? Find it better, I mean?”

Shiro froze. Keith noticed, and craned his neck back to look at Shiro curiously. “I,” Shiro started, and stopped, and looked away.

Keith’s eyebrows went up. “Who is your…sire?” he pressed.

“I have none,” Shiro said.

Keith frowned. “Then you were not turned?”

“I was turned,” Shiro said. He swallowed. “I…I would rather not speak of it.”

Keith sat up fully in the bath. “Did you have a choice?” he asked.

Slowly, Shiro shook his head. “No,” he said. “No, I did not.”

Keith’s frown deepened. “Were you sick, too? Or injured? Or –”

“I was human,” Shiro retorted, hands curling into fists. “I was alive, and well, and then I wasn’t. Let us speak of other things.”

“Okay,” Keith said quietly, looking at him in a different way, a line between his brows, gaze flicking to the scar over his nose and then back up again. “Okay. I’m…sorry.”

“Do not apologize to me,” Shiro said, shaking his head again. “I know I’m no better than the ones who turned me, but I…I am trying, Keith. _I_ am sorry. Hold still so I can rinse your hair.”

Keith held still and only spluttered a little when Shiro turned on the spigot and put his head under it until the suds were gone. He seemed shocked that Shiro hadn’t tried to drown him or something. Shiro gently took ahold of one of his hands and Keith scrunched up his nose but let Shiro scrub the blood away from there, too. Eventually Shiro reached the blood on his chest and Keith tensed, flushing but not telling him to stop…until Shiro accidentally brushed the healing bitemarks on his chest.

Both of them jolted abruptly. Keith made a _sound_ , breathy and _needy_ , and Shiro’s grip on his wrist tightened to the point of bruising. Shiro’s sudden inability to control the lengthening of his ears and claws was frightening to say the least, and Keith was in the same boat, his eyes glowing helplessly, wide as they locked onto Shiro’s. It was electric.

Shiro yanked his hand away, panting. Keith reeled backwards, glow fading from his eyes. “What,” Keith exclaimed, “was that?”

Shiro willed himself to breathe normally. “It’s a turning scar,” he gritted out. “Where I bit you. I…did not know that was a side effect.”

“I still don’t know what _that_ was,” Keith snapped.

Shiro shook his head helplessly. “Neither do I,” he said.

Keith sank down in the water until it reached his chin. “Don’t touch it again,” he mumbled.

“I won’t,” Shiro said, still shaky. “That was…unpleasant.” It wasn’t. It had been incredible, overwhelming. Shiro had felt like…had wanted to…he didn’t know.

“Very unpleasant,” Keith whispered. He sounded like he meant it. He also sounded like he had a lump in his throat again.

“I think I’ve removed all the blood,” Shiro said. “You should get some rest.”

Keith sat up, folding his arms and blocking the scar from Shiro’s gaze, intentionally or not. “Are we not nocturnal?”

“Yes, but you’re still healing, and…”

“Don’t baby me,” Keith grumbled, climbing out of the bath and getting water all over the floor. “I have not had an easy life. We cannot all live in fancy mansions with warm baths. I…I have lost people before. Even though I have not been kidnapped by a lordling and turned into a vampire and murdered my…my best friend before…” He swallowed and looked down. “Er…maybe I ought to rest, actually.”

“Here.” Shiro handed him a clean towel. “I’ll find some new pajamas for you, those are quite ruined.”

Keith changed in the privacy of the bathroom and emerged in the too-large pajamas, his damp hair fluffy and falling into his face, which didn’t look nearly as pale as before. Unfortunate though it was, Henry’s death had given Keith new life, and there was a shine in his eyes when he climbed into the tatters of the bed and looked up at Shiro.

“I…I know it’s my fault that they’re ruined but…do you have any other blankets?” Keith asked timidly.

“Yes, of course,” Shiro said. “Don’t worry about the mess. I’ll have the maids tend to it as soon as possible, and bring you a spare blanket for tonight.”

Keith looked surprised. “You have maids? Human servants…who you don’t eat?”

Shiro laughed quietly. “Yes. It’s difficult for you to control your impulse to feed now, but it becomes easier, over time. They are safe in this house, and good at what they do. I have never harmed them, and never intend to.”

Keith rolled onto his side, staring at the far wall. “How long?” he whispered.

Shiro made a soft, questioning sound.

“Until I have to feed again,” Keith said. “Until I have to…to kill someone again?”

“Several days, a week at most. You don’t have to kill them,” Shiro murmured. “I rarely do. That, too, is learned.”

Keith closed his eyes. “But I still have to hurt them. Take from them, from the unwilling. I…I don’t want to live off stolen life. There…there must be another way.”

“Get some sleep,” Shiro sighed, closing the velvet curtains over the shattered window. “I’ll give you the grand tour of the estate tomorrow afternoon.”

“Goodnight,” Keith said, listless, and Shiro left him though he wanted nothing more than to hold him close in comfort, whispering _sorry, sorry, sorry_ as if that would make any difference at all.

*

Just before dawn, Shiro went to the stables.

He had not allowed himself to keep any dogs or cats as pets after he was turned – their lifespans were too short, and he knew it would be too painful to lose so many in short succession. So instead, Shiro kept horses. Like cats, he had held horses in high regard since he was a child. The horses here were different from the ones back home – Japan valued stockier breeds, tough little ponies who could withstand work in the mountains and the snow. But the horses here were larger, leaner, made to run in sprawling herds across the great wide open of the West. They had a natural grace about them, and a strength, that Shiro was drawn to.

The horses greeted him with soft snorts as he passed their stalls. He had a dozen of them now, old and young, different breeds and coats and sexes, collected with care over the years. At first, his horses had been terrified of him. Horses were, like vampires, creatures of instinct. They’d seen him as a predator, a danger to be avoided, and they weren’t wrong.

But when the wolf never bites…they let down their guard. They still knew he was not human, not like the stable boys and grooms who tended to them during the day. Animals were more perceptive than humans in that way. But that didn’t matter to them when he fed them sugar cubes and brushed the dust from their coats until they shone. Horses were also creatures of habit, and Shiro had become a constant for them.

He reached the stall on the end, the one he frequented most, and called to the horse within. “Ohayou, Kuro.”

Snort, snort. The stallion turned reluctantly from his feed basket, ears pricked. He craned his neck to nose at Shiro’s jacket, snorting again in discontent when he found no apples hidden within it. “Don’t be greedy,” Shiro admonished, stroking his nose until the stallion stopped huffing at him. “We’re going to town today, so you must behave. You will get apples after if you do.”

Kuro’s speckled muzzle quivered, ears flicking, regarding Shiro with eyes the color of old pennies. He was a smart horse, and knew to turn accordingly and hold still when Shiro brought his tack over. He was the third Kuro, and Shiro’s favorite so far – the first two had been all black, feisty quarter horse stallions with good speed and stamina but too much attitude.

He had purchased Third Kuro from the Nez Perce people from the north – they ventured into California in the spring to trade, mostly to trade their horses. Third Kuro was called an appaloosa, black except for the white stripe down his face, the pink and gray mottling his muzzle, his white socks, and the large white blanket spotted black across his hindquarters. He was striking, and had a much better temperament than the first two.

Shiro was convinced that the tribes were better at raising and handling horses than the white men. Especially with stallions. They drove the poor creatures mad in their efforts to control them with ropes and spurs, and if they failed to do that they gelded them. Shiro owned a few geldings who had been through no small amount of abuse, evidenced by the brands on their flanks and the cowed look in their eyes. He tended to give them more sugar cubes than the others. They’d suffered enough.

Kuro was the only stallion in the barn; Shiro had no doubt that his fairly calm and patient demeanor would quickly wear thin if he had to share the space with another. He was usually turned out with the geldings or alone – the other horses were still getting used to him after the loss of Second Kuro, who had died two years ago.

Kuro was only six, young and spirited still, and he was always eager to leave the barn. The other horses watched lazily as Shiro led him out, taking care to avoid the mares. Some of them stomped and eyed him suspiciously anyway, tails flicking and nostrils flaring in warning. Kuro shifted nervously under their glares. Mares were more unpredictable than stallions, as far as Shiro was concerned.

The morning air was cool and Kuro’s breath puffed out in a white cloud as Shiro mounted and dug his heels in, urging him into an easy canter down the lane. Kuro was a sight to see, long mane and tail streaming out as he ran in long, powerful strides, hooves thundering over the earth. Shiro sat tall in the saddle, holding the reins with practiced ease as the wind cut past his cheek and the town came into view. Kuro did not want to slow down, but Shiro promised him a good run in the pasture after this, and soothed the stallion into a steady trot as gravel turned to cobblestones.

Redding was still waking up, and Shiro did his best not to flinch as the sun peeked over the horizon. He had taken pains to cover his skin and wore a wide-brimmed hat to shield his face, but the light still unsettled him. The faster this was over with, the better.

He rode Kuro down Market Street, past opening stalls and confused vendors who watched him pass with open mouths and furrowed brows. Then onto side streets, until the air was thick with the smell of coal and kerosene and the factory district surrounded him once more. Shiro was getting rather tired of this place. Kuro whinnied uneasily at the strange sounds and scents. “Hush,” Shiro murmured, directing him towards Keith’s factory. The people milling about eyed them just like the mares had.

One of them, a tall man with a pipe, approached and folded his arms. “What’s your business here, sir? Haven’t seen you ‘round these parts.”

“No, I expect not,” Shiro said simply, not bothering to dismount. There was something deeply satisfying about speaking from atop a horse. “I heard there was a murder here last night. Young man called Henry, in the dormitories. Ring a bell?”

The man blanched. “Quiet, quiet!” he urged. “Now where’d you hear somethin’ like that?”

“I’m the one asking questions,” Shiro said mildly.

The man purpled. Shiro casually toyed with his gold pocket watch. The man said stiffly, “Yessir, Henry McClain was murdered most violently last night. Head nearly ripped clean off. What’s it to you?”

“I would like to arrange and pay for the burial,” Shiro replied. The man blinked in surprise. “Is that possible?”

“You’ll want to speak with the coroner,” the man said, jerking his hand towards a side street. “Third building on the left. Tell him Mr. Phillips sent you.” Phillips squinted at him. “What’s your interest in McClain, anyway? Don’t look like kin to me.”

“Not quite,” Shiro said, turning Kuro towards the coroner’s.

“Wait, wait,” Phillips said. “We lost another boy recently, heard about that one? Keith, kid from the city orphanage – looks more like your kin than McClain. No body, just vanished into thin air. He and McClain were close – strange coincidence that one goes missing and the other dies soon after, no?”

Shiro shook his head. “I hadn’t heard, no,” he lied. “Good day.”

*

Funeral arrangements made, Shiro returned to the estate around ten. Kuro gladly fled into the pasture as soon as Shiro unsaddled him, directing the sleepy stable boys to give him an apple or two when he was done frolicking. Shiro watched the stallion for a moment, wondering at the simple pleasure he found in rolling amidst the tall grass, and then slipped inside before the rising sun could creep past the shadow of his hat.

The maids were more cheerful than usual, especially when Shiro enquired after Keith.

“Oh, he’s sleeping soundly, sir!” Marisol informed him brightly.

“You changed the sheets and mattress? Straightened up the room?”

“Yes, sir,” Sofia said. She smiled a little. “He’s a very polite boy, sir. Not at all what we expected.”

Shiro’s eyes narrowed. “What were you expecting?”

They wilted slightly. “Oh…well, just, what with the state of the place…we thought he might be a bit mad, you know,” Sofia mumbled. “But he isn’t!” she added quickly. “Just very shy, sir.”

“Shy,” Shiro repeated.

“Oh, yes,” Marisol said. “His face was so pink, and he startled away whenever we came within five feet of him! Then he asked about you, sir, and was shy about that, too.”

Shiro paused. “He asked…about me?”

“Asked where you’d gone, sir,” Sofia said. She frowned thoughtfully. “Which is a bit funny, because I don’t recall him being awake when you left, and he never left his room.”

Shiro’s breath quickened. So it wasn’t just him. Keith felt something – some kind of connection, some kind of bond – to him, too. Keith had sensed his absence, somehow. “I see,” Shiro said. “Is he awake now, do you know?”

“Oh, I expect not, sir,” Marisol chuckled. “He was fast asleep when we left. Poor thing looked exhausted. You did a good deed by taking him in, sir, if you don’t mind me saying so.”

“Hmm,” Shiro said. “You truly think so?”

“The Lord commands us to care for the least of these, sir,” Sofia said earnestly. “You have done more than most would, sir, not just for Keith.”

The rest remained unspoken. Sofia and Marisol would not be employed or treated well in most other establishments. Neither would many of Shiro’s servants. But he had no desire to be lauded as some kind of hero when he was anything but. “Thank you for tending to Keith. I will show him around the house when he awakes – until then, he is not to be disturbed.”

“Yes, sir,” Sofia said, looking a bit disappointed.

*

Shiro heard Keith waking up down the hall late that afternoon, and listened for a while to the sound of him rifling through the wardrobe, imagining Keith’s fascination and confusion with so many new clothes. It was a surprise, however, when Keith left the guest bedroom and came to Shiro, stopping outside his study and knocking cautiously at the door.

“Hello?”

“Yes, Keith,” Shiro called back, “come in.”

Slowly, Keith did. He was wearing the simplest outfit he possibly could, just a white pressed shirt and gray trousers, hardly appropriate for proper society, but then again neither of them fell into that category. “Good afternoon,” Shiro said from his desk, leaning back in his chair. “How did you sleep?”

“Fine, thank you,” Keith said, shuffling in place. “How…how was your ride to town?”

“Pleasant enough,” Shiro replied. “The maids are quite taken with you, you know.”

Keith faltered. “What?”

“Sofia and Marisol. They cleaned up your room earlier. They could hardly stop gushing about you.” Shiro smiled when the tips of his ears turned red. “It’s still up to you whether you’d like to stay or not, but I believe they’d be sad to see you go.”

“Oh,” Keith mumbled, looking down at his feet. “They…were very kind. To me.” He wet his lips and glanced back up. “They said you were kind to them, too.”

Secretly, Shiro was pleased Keith had thought to ask such a thing – _clever boy,_ he thought. “Good of them to say so,” he replied. “Did you expect otherwise?”

Keith hesitated. “At the factory,” he said carefully, “our overseer was not especially…kind.”

“And at the orphanage?”

Keith’s eyes widened. “How do you know about that?” he snapped.

“My apologies,” Shiro said. “I did not mean to pry. I simply spoke with a Mr. Phillips today, and he mentioned that.”

“He was our overseer,” Keith said. “He practically bought me from that orphanage. I…am glad to be rid of him.”

“He seemed like an unpleasant man,” Shiro agreed. “The coroner was much more courteous.”

Keith’s eyebrows went up. “Then – Henry, you –”

“I made the arrangements, yes,” Shiro said. “He will be properly buried in the St. Joseph Cemetery in a week. I would have preferred a sooner date, but the headstone takes time to engrave.”

“Headstone?” Keith whispered.

“Yes,” Shiro replied. “I said I would take care of it.”

“Is it a nice headstone?” Keith asked faintly. “And the casket, too?”

“Marble and mahogany, yes,” Shiro said. “The most expensive ones they had.”

Keith swallowed. “Thank you,” he said, barely a whisper, eyes lowering. “I…I don’t know how to repay you. I don’t have any money or…or anything at all, really, but...”

“That is not necessary, Keith,” Shiro told him. “But if you would allow me to take you on a tour of my estate, that would be nice.”

Keith looked up, brow furrowed like he didn’t know if Shiro was joking or not. But he relaxed after a few seconds, brow smoothing over and eyes bright with something like curiosity, and nodded. “Yes,” he said. “Okay.”

*

Keith couldn’t seem to close his mouth during the tour. Like most things about Keith, it was terribly endearing. He gaped at the sparkling chandelier in the front hall, he gasped at the grand staircase, he ooh-ed at the tiny bonsai trees in the windowsills, he ahh-ed when Shiro explained he owned the woods behind the house, all the way to the river.

But his best reaction was when Shiro showed him the library. Keith was unable to tear his gaze away from the shelves and shelves of books, and as soon as Shiro gave him permission he ran his fingertips over the spines, pausing over the grooves where the titles were embossed in gold and silver gilt. He was amazed by the piano, too, but was too hesitant to touch it.

“It looks expensive,” Keith said as Shiro sat on the bench and put his hands upon the keys. “There was a small, shabby one at the orphanage, but only the nuns were allowed to use it…”

“No nuns here,” Shiro chuckled. “Would you like me to play something for you?”

Keith flushed. “I…don’t know any songs.”

“Ah, well, then I shall play my favorite for you,” Shiro said. He did not need sheet music to remember the notes to the piece that came to him then, and Keith watched from where he stood beside the bookshelves, perfectly still and silent until the last note faded.

“That was…very good,” Keith mumbled. “What is it called?”

“The Shepherd Boy,” Shiro said with a smile. “An étude by Chopin.” Keith looked hopelessly lost and Shiro laughed, rising from the piano and approaching him. “Did those pesky nuns teach you how to read?”

Keith shrugged, eying him uncertainly. “Some,” he said. “I can read the Bible…mostly.”

“The Bible,” Shiro repeated. “Well, that won’t do.”

“You don’t like the Bible?” Keith said incredulously.

“Not particularly,” Shiro said. “Do you?”

Keith cleared his throat. “I…some verses are…nice. Others are…less so.”

“The hellfire ones, I would guess.”

“Yes,” Keith said with the ghost of a smile. “Those. I don’t like those very much.” He touched the book closest to him. “When we die, where do we go?”

“That, I don’t know,” Shiro said. “We’ve already died once, so I suppose it works differently. But I don’t trouble myself with it. It will be a very, very long time before either of us dies, after all.”

“Hmm,” Keith said, drawing out the word. “So you’re…not scared of Hell?”

“No,” Shiro said. “I think I’ve been there already anyway.” Keith blinked at him and Shiro pulled out the book Keith had been touching. Their fingertips brushed briefly and Keith flinched away, Shiro did his best to ignore it. “Ah, this is a good one. One of my favorites, in fact. _The Picture of Dorian Gray._ Now, there’s a book the nuns would never let you read.”

Keith looked at the slim purple book with apprehension. “Why not?”

“Oh, they’d find it deeply immoral, I’m sure. The Catholic Church has very poor taste, though Sofia and Marisol would wax poetic about it if I gave them the chance – which I will not.” Shiro handed him the book. “Read it, if you’d like. I can help you with any difficult passages.”

“Right…right now?” Keith said.

“Well, the tour of the house is over,” Shiro said, “so yes, if you wish. I’d like to show you around the stables after sunset, so…I’ll find you then?”

Keith stared down at the book and then up at him. “Alright,” he said. “Is…is this the only book I can read?”

Shiro blinked at him. “No, of course not. Read whatever you’d like.” He waved a hand. “You can do whatever you’d like, Keith, you don’t have to read if you don’t want to. Just as long as you don’t tear apart the house again.” He smiled.

“Whatever I’d like,” Keith echoed, stunned. He sank down onto the nearest sofa. His hands were trembling.

“Yes, Keith. I will see you later,” Shiro promised, and left him to his own devices.

*

He half-hoped Keith would find him before sundown to help him with reading, but apparently Keith still needed his space because he hadn’t moved from where he was curled on the sofa in the library. When Shiro found him he was asleep, the book open to around halfway in his lap, drooling slightly on the cushions. Shiro stared at him helplessly for a moment or two. _Mine,_ he thought unconsciously, and immediately scolded himself for it.

“Keith,” he said. It was a quiet tone, no louder than his usual speaking voice, but Keith awoke at once, scrambling upright and knocking the book out of his lap, yelping and trying unsuccessfully to grab it before it hit the floor.

“Ah! Sorry, sorry, I’m sorry –”

Shiro knelt easily and retrieved the book, shaking his head in amusement. “No need to panic, you just fell asleep. It’s good you’re resting. Ready to go to the stables?”

“Yes,” Keith mumbled, hastily straightening his shirt. “Yes, let’s go.”

*

“How do you like the book so far?” Shiro asked as they walked across the twilit grounds to the stables together.

Keith didn’t answer at once, and when Shiro looked he was biting his lip furiously. “I didn’t understand most of it,” he admitted when he saw Shiro looking. “I…I hadn’t seen so many of those words, and it hurt my eyes –”

“It’s alright,” Shiro assured him. “It isn’t an easy book to read. I should have recommended a simpler one.”

Keith’s brow lowered. “I’m not stupid,” he snapped, but he sounded like he was trying to convince himself more than Shiro.

“Of course you aren’t,” Shiro murmured, pausing to look seriously at him. “Who said you were stupid, Keith?”

“I thought you were taking me to the stables,” Keith muttered, continuing on towards the building, hands clenched into fists.

“Keith,” Shiro sighed, falling into step beside him again. “Being unable to read well doesn’t make you stupid.”

“Stupider than you,” Keith retorted, his jaw tight.

Shiro frowned. “Don’t compare yourself to me,” he said quietly. “Please.”

“I’m not,” Keith grumbled, missing the sadness in Shiro’s face as he pushed past him and into the stables. Keith stopped in his tracks. “Why do you have so many horses?”

“Not that many,” Shiro said. “Twelve, currently. Six mares, five geldings, and a stallion.”

“I don’t know how to ride horses either,” Keith said flatly. “So you can add that to the list of things Keith can’t do.”

“That isn’t a list that exists,” Shiro told him, brushing past his shoulder lightly and stepping away before Keith could react. “Besides, that is a skill more easily learned than reading. I can teach you, if you’d like…but you have to pick a horse, first.”

“Pick a horse?” Keith took a hesitant step forward. “You mean…for me?”

“Yes, as you said I have more than enough horses, so it’s only fair that you have at least one, too.”

“I can choose whichever one I want?”

“Except for the stallion on the end, yes,” Shiro said. “I can tell you which ones are easy to ride, too – horses have personality, and some are harder to handle than others.”

Keith was walking towards Kuro’s stall. “This one is yours, then? What’s his name?”

“Kuro,” Shiro said, following him. “I ride him most frequently, and he is most familiar with me. Not all horses are comfortable around our kind.”

“Oh,” Keith said. He noticed the horses’ anxious snorting and tail-flicking and frowned, though he was quickly distracted when Kuro started trying to nibble at his hair. “Hey, no! Bad horse!” He was giggling, though, so Kuro didn’t get the message and redoubled his efforts to eat this strange black head hay. Shiro rolled his eyes and pushed the stallion’s nose away. Kuro yawned at him and went back to eating.

“He’s very pretty,” Keith said. “I’ve never seen a spotted horse before. Don’t the Indians have those?”

“Kuro is from the Nez Perce tribe, yes,” Shiro corrected. “They call the coloring appaloosa.”

“Appaloosa,” Keith repeated. “Pretty.” He tentatively reached out to stroke Kuro’s broad neck. The stallion gave him the side-eye but allowed it. “Is Kuro a Japanese name? Like yours?”

“Yes, it means black or dark,” Shiro said. “Shiro means white, Shirogane means silver. How did you know I was Japanese? That’s rather smart.”

Keith huffed. “I’ve heard of you before,” he said. “People in the city talk, sometimes. About the wealthy Japanese hermit on the edge of town who’s been there as long as anyone can remember. You’re like a local legend.” A smile tugged at the edges of his mouth. “But you’re not nearly as mysterious and scary as they all say.”

“I resent that,” Shiro joked, but Keith was already darting away down the aisle of stalls, looking at each new horse with delight and offering his empty palm for them to sniff if they were brave enough. One horse, however, took it a step further and bit him instead.

“ _Ow!_ ” Keith’s cry of pain broke through the quietness of the stable and Shiro hurried to see what was wrong…but he knew as soon as he saw which horse Keith was standing in front of.

He narrowed his eyes at her and she glared right back. “No, you definitely do not want her,” Shiro said, gingerly lifting Keith’s injured hand. It wasn’t too bad, but she’d broken skin and it would bruise. “Luckily this should heal in an hour or two.”

Keith snatched his hand back and looked at the horse again. Her lip was curled back from her teeth, ears pinned, front hoof stomping. “Does she bite everyone?” he asked.

“Everyone who gets close enough,” Shiro said. “She’s one of the newer ones – about five, young like Kuro.”

“Is she from a tribe, too?”

“No,” Shiro chuckled, “no, she doesn’t belong to anyone. Do you, girl?” She snorted angrily at him. “She’s a mustang. One of the wild horses, probably from Nevada. I don’t doubt they would’ve turned her into dog meat or glue if I hadn’t bought her at an auction last year. I can’t entirely blame them. She’s impossible.”

“She’s beautiful,” Keith said, already reaching out again. The mare stared at his hand like she couldn’t believe he was so eager to get it chomped off. “Does she have a name?”

“Keith, she’s not –”

“You said whichever horse I want, except for the stallion,” Keith retorted, stubborn. “And she’s not a stallion. And I want her.”

“I’ve had her for a year and nobody has been able to break her –”

“I’m going to name her Rose-Red,” Keith declared, cooing over her like she wasn’t planning on taking his entire arm off at this point. “Like the princess in the fairytale. Red for short, just like her pretty color.”

“She’s bay, not red,” Shiro protested. “Keith, please, this is a bad idea – how are you doing that.”

Keith was petting Red. Still cooing, too. She was still staring at him, seemingly too shocked to bite him for the time being. “Don’t worry, I’m not listening to him,” Keith told her sweetly. “I don’t believe you’re impossible. You’re going to be my horse, okay? I’ve never really had anything of my own before so…I don’t really know what to do. But I’m going to try my best, and take care of you, so don’t worry.” He turned to Shiro, tone shifting from sweet to sharp. “Can I give her an apple or something?”

Red’s ears flicked forward with interest at _apple_.

“You’re serious,” Shiro said, looking from the problem mare to Keith and then back again. “You can’t learn to ride on her; she’ll buck you off and trample you as soon as you get on her back.”

“Then she and I will learn together,” Keith snapped. “She’s probably never been ridden before, I’ve never ridden before. So it’s perfect.”

“You’re going to get bitten again,” Shiro warned, pointing towards the barrel where the apples were kept. Keith grabbed one and hurried back, and this time when he held out his palm Red bit the apple and nothing else, and to Shiro’s disbelief and Keith’s delight she nosed into his palm afterwards, licking at the remnants of apple juice before nipping lightly at his fingers and waiting expectantly for more.

“Good horse,” Keith praised, and Red gazed at him unblinkingly, snorting more softly than usual. Then she bit his hand again.

“ _AUGH!_ ” Keith shouted.

“I told you so,” Shiro said under his breath as he went to find ice.

*

Despite that, Keith was stuck on Red. And so their nightly lessons began.

There was no way Red would have tolerated being in the pen with Kuro (and no way Shiro would put his stallion in danger like that), so Shiro used one of the older, milder mares instead. Her name was Yuka and, like her name suggested, she didn’t have a mean bone in her body. As opposed to Red, who had nothing but mean bones as far as Shiro was concerned.

He didn’t know what Keith saw in her – she was a nice color, sure, with a light bay coat and black points that most breeders would have admired, if not for the unpleasant mare they belonged to. But she was a strange little horse – shorter than Kuro and Yuka, with a strong but stocky build, a short, arched neck, and legs so fine-boned they looked too dainty to support her.

Her head wasn’t delicate at all, but rather chunky, with a broad, white-striped muzzle and beady eyes that seemed to bug out when she was mad, which was usually. Her mane and tail were black, wavy, and coarse, so much so that Keith broke the comb a little more every time he groomed her. But Keith _adored_ her. And even if Red struck out at him and scared Yuka and made Shiro’s lessons frustrating, it was worth it to see Keith smile.

It was frightening, really, how far Shiro would go to make Keith smile.

*

By the end of the first week, they’d made some progress – both with Keith and Red. The boy and the horse were similar, much as Shiro hated to draw parallels between his Keith and that demon mare. They were both coming out of their shells, little by little. Keith didn’t ask permission before picking up books or exploring the house, though he still shied away when Shiro approached and snapped at him more often than not. He had every right to, but it still hurt a little.

Red ate out of Keith’s hand without biting, usually, and she’d learned that halters were not horrible torture devices and that leading was not the worst experience ever, especially if it was Keith leading her and praising her for doing little more than breathing and not inflicting bodily harm on anyone for five minutes.

One big problem, however, had not been resolved – Keith didn’t want to learn about being a vampire, refused to hunt, and flat-out threatened to leave if Shiro brought live prey to him. He’d reluctantly accepted three bottles from the cellar, but there were only so many of those, and Shiro knew vampires weren’t meant to subsist on aged blood. It wasn’t sustainable, and the pallor was setting into Keith’s skin again, little by little.

Shiro couldn’t be upset with him for it. He knew most sires would have forced Keith to give in by now, because sooner or later he’d have to come to terms with drinking human blood to survive. But Shiro just couldn’t do it. Not when the peace that existed between them was so fragile, and felt like with care it could be something more – friendship, respect; maybe even trust, one day.

And especially not on the day of Henry’s funeral.

Shiro awoke Keith gently around noon, and watched him stir groggily, rubbing his eyes and looking at Shiro with bleary confusion, which was better than panicky fear. “Wha?” he mumbled. “Still daytime…”

“Yes, but it’s an important day,” Shiro reminded him, and watched Keith’s sleepy expression sharpen as he sat upright. “Get dressed. Wear a suit and gloves; you don’t want to get burned.”

Keith emerged awhile later wearing a terribly buttoned-up suit and a tie that lay limply in his gloved hands. Sheepishly, he held it up to Shiro. “I don’t know how to wear this,” he mumbled.

“No, I wouldn’t expect you to,” Shiro murmured, and took the tie from him, looping it around Keith’s neck and trying to concentrate on tying the same knot he’d tied so many times instead of the pale column of Keith’s throat inches from his fingertips.

Keith grimaced. “And I wouldn’t expect you to know how to be not-condescending.”

Shiro raised an eyebrow at him halfway through tying his tie. Their faces were very close. There was a storm brewing in Keith’s eyes. “It’s not condescension,” Shiro said. “Just stating a fact. I didn’t know how to tie a tie when I first arrived in America. Such things are learned, acquired skills. That is all.”

Keith blinked. “When did you first arrive?”

“A long time ago,” Shiro said shortly, pulling the tie taut and perhaps a little too tight. He fixed the buttons, smoothed down Keith’s suit, and stepped back. “Ready?”

Keith nodded, though he didn’t look ready at all.

*

Shiro’s carriage took them to the cemetery, which was on the other side of Redding, just outside the city limits. Keith did not look at him for the duration of the journey, hands folded in his lap to disguise their shaking, looking out the curtained window at the street as they passed. Shiro wanted to reach out, to comfort him, but Keith showed no sign of wanting such attention, so he did not. A promise was a promise.

The carriage rolled to a stop after what felt like a long time, and the footman opened the door for them. Shiro went first, opening the umbrella he’d brought and handing one to Keith, who jumped when it unfurled. They must have made quite a pair, walking towards the fresh grave and the preacher and the small group of people assembled in full suits, carrying umbrellas even though there was not a cloud in sight. Keith’s hand was shaking again, and the umbrella shook with it.

“Relax,” Shiro said out of the corner of his mouth. “There’s nothing to be afraid of here, Keith.”

“I don’t know if I can look at him,” Keith whispered back, and he turned to look at Shiro and Shiro saw the tell-tale redness of his eyes – no wonder he’d been looking away in the carriage. He’d been crying.

“I told them to close the casket,” Shiro said, and Keith’s face flooded with relief. “They…cleaned him up, though. Put everything back together, whole. Gave him a nice suit to wear, even nicer than ours.”

“He would have wanted that,” Keith said. “He always talked about striking it rich one day…becoming some hotshot who had everything.” Keith’s mouth twisted. “Like you.”

“I didn’t strike anything rich,” Shiro murmured. “I’ve just been around for a while. Come, they’re about to start the ceremony.”

Keith walked with him to the grave. The few people in attendance were, Shiro assumed, Henry McClain’s family. A burly father who worked in the mines, judging by the sharp iron scent that clung to him, like blood in its purest form; a waifish mother who stood with hands clasped over her heart and tears staining her freckled face; three little girls with straw-colored hair yanked into pigtail braids and worn muslin dresses. There was a little old man and a little old woman, too, both so hunched over and wizened with age that they stood only a bit taller than the children.

The family glanced at him from time to time, wondering, surely, who he was and why he had done this for their dead son. But they were ultimately too embroiled in grief to care.

The preacher gave the eulogy Shiro had assigned him. It was short, simple, yet heartfelt. Or so he hoped. He wondered, too late, if Keith might have wanted to write the eulogy himself, and then realized he didn’t even know if Keith _could_ write.

As Shiro had wanted, the preacher ended the eulogy with the Twenty-Third Psalm. Shiro may have thought little of the Bible, but he could appreciate that verse. It was a source of comfort and peace for many, and that had to count for something.

But it was a shock when, as the pallbearers lowered the casket into the grave and the preacher spoke the last words of the psalm, Keith turned to Shiro, umbrellas clunking awkwardly against each other, and hid his face against Shiro’s chest. Shiro instinctively wrapped an arm around him, and then froze, not knowing if he’d overstepped…but Keith had started crying in earnest and wrapped his arms around Shiro’s middle tightly.

Shiro squeezed his shoulder. “It’s alright,” he murmured, “you’re alright.”

Keith lifted his head slightly, lashes sticking together and face blotchy and the most beautiful thing Shiro had ever seen. “I want to go home,” he whispered. “Please, let’s go home, Shiro.”

“Okay,” Shiro said, and Keith slumped in relief. “Shh. We’ll go home and you can have a warm cup of tea and I can play some music for you, how does that sound?”

Keith nodded, face tucked against Shiro once more.

Keith let Shiro put an arm around his shoulders for the whole carriage ride, and Keith stayed curled close to his side, face wet from crying though his tears seemed to have dried up. He leaned his head on Shiro’s shoulder and mumbled, “I didn’t know we could drink tea.”

Shiro chuckled. “Yes. Most alcohol and coffee, too. But it isn’t a substitute for…well. You know.”

“I know,” Keith sighed.

“Hey,” Shiro murmured, tipping Keith’s chin up to look at him. “I’m going to try to figure this out, okay? I’m not going to force you to kill or hurt anyone. It’s…it’s my doing, my fault, so I should be the one to fix it.”

Keith searched his eyes, and swallowed. “Do vampires die if they don’t feed?”

“It’s not an easy death,” Shiro said. “It can take weeks of starvation and a terrible descent into madness. You’d lose any semblance of humanity. And I will not let that happen to you.”

Keith looked as if he might protest, but then he just laid his head back down on Shiro’s shoulder and closed his eyes. He was asleep by the time they got back to the estate, and it was only then that he realized Keith had finally called this place _home._

*

Shiro had an idea. It was half-formed, and he had no idea how plausible it really was…but he aimed to try it, because it might be the solution to helping Keith. He’d made Keith a cup of chamomile and played piano until he fell asleep on the sofa again, and had carried him upstairs to his bed before leaving for the to test his hypothesis. Keith had awoken briefly as Shiro lifted him up from the sofa, and the whole walk to the stables, Shiro could not stop thinking about the soft, unguarded expression on Keith’s face when he’d looked up at Shiro before closing his eyes again.

Kuro was surprised to see him when the sun was so high in the sky, but greeted him with a whinny anyway and butted his head affectionately against Shiro’s shoulder. Shiro stroked a hand over the slope of his tall shoulder, frowning thoughtfully to himself when his palm paused upon the stallion’s strong neck. He had done this several times over the years, out of curiosity more than anything else. The other Kuros had been too jumpy and aggressive to allow it, but Third Kuro was calm even when Shiro’s fangs broke through his skin and hot blood beaded up, caught on Shiro’s tongue as he lapped it away. The other horses shifted anxiously at the scent of blood, but Shiro was careful – he never drew from major veins and always stopped after a minute or two.

Horse blood was different from human blood, and yet undeniably similar, too. Human blood tasted unique depending on who it belonged to – horse blood, as far as Shiro could determine, varied very little, it was a uniform taste without any of the distinct notes and flavors found in human blood. But it wasn’t unpleasant. And maybe, just maybe, it could be the substitute Keith so desperately needed.

He wiped his mouth when he stepped back, and Kuro turned to look at him, unblinking and inquisitive. “Sumimasen, Kuro,” he murmured. “I wonder, would you let Keith feed from you, too?” He pursed his lips. “But he might take too much…and we can’t risk that. You are not disposable, Kuro. So what is…?”

Shiro didn’t believe in God, and had his doubts about divine intervention of any kind, but just he heard then the long, shrill bugle of a bull elk from the forest, and if there was a god out there, Shiro doubted they could be any more obvious than that.

*

“Keith, we’re going out tonight, but don’t bother getting dressed up. In fact, wear the plainest clothes you have…they’re going to get messy.”

Keith looked up from the new book he was reading – one about astronomy, hm. “Messy?” he repeated warily. “Why?”

“We’re going hunting,” Shiro said, and before he could finish the sentence Keith was out of his chair, face pale and drawn and eyes wide. “Elk,” Shiro finished, “we’re hunting elk, Keith, calm down.”

“Elk?” Keith said, bewildered. “We can feed on elk blood?”

“We’re going to find out,” Shiro admitted. “It’s the fall rut, so they should be out in droves – just stay close to me, and don’t go near the bulls. I do not want this night to end in either of us gored by antlers, understood?”

Keith bit his lip and nodded. “Would that…kill us?”

“No,” Shiro grumbled, “but it would be highly unpleasant.”

“Have…have you ever hunted elk before?”

“Just get dressed, Keith,” Shiro sighed, “and let me at least pretend I know what I’m doing, here.”

Keith’s lips quirked, and he hurried upstairs.

*

“This might be easier if you were a panther,” Keith whispered as the two of them crept through the undergrowth together.

“Yes, it would undoubtedly be easier, but you can’t turn into a panther,” Shiro retorted. “And you need to learn how to hunt, too. Now hush, and listen. Tread lightly.”

“I don’t think vampires are capable of treading heavily –”

A herd of elk stepped into the clearing about a hundred feet away. Shiro put a finger to his lips. They were all cows…except for the last elk who stepped out of the trees, stretching its shaggy neck out towards the nearest cow. He must have been an older bull, because his antlers were large and had many branches, like a great tree sprouting from his head. The elks’ eyes glinted in the darkness, and Shiro wondered if they could see just as well as vampires.

One elk caught Shiro’s eye, somewhat separated from the rest, and smaller. A young cow, likely too young for breeding but too old to stay with her mother. Shiro pointed, and Keith followed his gaze, nodding. They waited until the bull had made his way to the front of the herd, leaving the young cow at the back, grazing obliviously as Keith and Shiro made their way towards her.

Then something spooked them – perhaps a crunch of leaves or rustle in the bushes, but whatever it was, the elk burst into motion, the bull letting out a warning bark as the cows scattered. Shiro swore under his breath as the young cow dashed off into the trees, and followed in hot pursuit. Keith scrambled to keep up, and though they could only run slightly faster than humans, they had much better stamina. The cow, suddenly aware of being chased, cried out in alarm and lengthened her stride, leaping through the brush as fast as she could.

She had the lead for what felt like a long time, but eventually they started to close in on her. She was tired, Shiro could see the exhaustion setting into her body, each stride shorter and slower than the next. They flanked her, and she struck out with her hooves, nearly kicking Keith. Shiro growled and lunged for her neck, claws slicing through fur and flesh, and she fell with a high-pitched bleat of fear, crumpling into the ferns as Keith pulled her down on the other side.

Though she was bleeding, the cow wasn’t dead when she fell, and Shiro saw her eyes roll back, body heaving and legs kicking out again, trying uselessly to stand. Keith had one clawed hand braced on her shoulder and Shiro saw him falter, saw him smell the animal’s terror – as sour as a human’s, thick in the air between them.

Shiro exhaled, and leaned closer to the cow, who jerked abortively. He didn’t use his full thrall, just a hint, just enough to calm her. _Peace,_ he urged, and she slumped, eyes glazing over. _Your blood may save this boy’s life,_ Shiro told her. _We will not waste it._

She didn’t understand, of course she didn’t, but she lay still as Shiro motioned for Keith to bite her jugular. He did, and the cow kicked weakly one last time before fading away.

Keith kept feeding, eyes closing as color returned to his skin, and hopeful triumph stirred in Shiro’s breast.

Keith lifted his head after a time, red dripping from his mouth and pupils dilated. He seemed pleased, at first, and then as he focused on Shiro his face fell.

“What?” Shiro asked urgently, fearing the worst – perhaps the blood had poisoned him, or he was dissatisfied after all, or –

“You’re going to hunt in the city after this, aren’t you,” Keith said.

Shiro stopped. He…hadn’t thought about that. But…“Why would I, when we’re already hunting here?”

Keith’s eyes widened. “You would give up human blood, too?”

“I am your sire,” Shiro told him. “Whatever is best for you is best for me. And this is best for you, is it not?”

“It is,” Keith said, looking down at the elk and back up at him. “I can’t taste the soul in an elk’s blood. Not like with Henry. It’s easier, to taste nothing.”

Shiro smiled, bittersweet. “I’m glad, then,” he said. “I did not wish to see you waste away again.”

“This hunger is almost worse than consumption,” Keith sighed. He wiped the blood away from his mouth and regarded Shiro thoughtfully. “But…it is good, to not be alone in this. To have someone who is willing to bear it with me.”

“You will have me as long as you want me,” Shiro said.

“I know,” Keith said, and smiled, bloodied and beautiful.

*

The days turned into weeks, and as it so often did, life fell into a familiar rhythm. But this was the first time in Shiro’s memory when that rhythm had been truly pleasant. It was the first time that living felt like less of a chore and more of an adventure – Shiro actually began to look forward to each new day and night, because Keith would be there with him.

He also didn’t dread the nights anymore – true to his word, he only hunted with Keith in the forest, and found that he didn’t miss the taste of human blood as much as he’d expected. Keith had been right about tasting humans’ souls in their blood, and tasting nothing in an elk’s. Keith was right about a lot of things – even if he still tended to deny it, he was very smart. Smart in a different way than Shiro, perhaps, but his intelligence was by no means inferior. He couldn’t play sonatas and read four hundred pages in a day; but he could sense where the elk would be from miles off, he could think quickly and act even quicker in most situations, he could name almost every constellation in the sky, and he could tame horses like nobody’s business. Keith’s intelligence was something innate, instinctual, and special…even if he didn’t see it yet, Shiro did.

At the end of the third week, Red finally let Keith put a saddle and bridle on her. She’d put up a fight with the bit, but Keith was patient with horses in a way he rarely was with people. He’d murmured to her and stroked her mane until she calmed enough to let him place the metal bit properly, and gave her time to chew at it and get used to the alien sensation. She was still nervous, but…that mare trusted Keith, somehow, though she had trusted no one else before. And she didn’t buck him off when he shakily swung himself up into the saddle, clutching at the reins with white knuckles and looking to Shiro with a kind of startled awe.

Keith was also a fast learner – he listened to Shiro’s lessons attentively and in no time he had progressed from groundwork exercises with Red to actually riding her around the corral, using vocal commands only – she didn’t respond well to any kicking, and even the slightest pressure from Keith’s heels was enough to set her off into a bouncy trot. The first time that happened, Keith had yelped and almost fell off while Shiro unsuccessfully tried to smother his laughter.

“They can go much faster than that, you know,” Shiro had informed Keith as he hastily eased her into a walk again.

“Obviously,” Keith retorted, no venom behind it. “I’m sure Red and I could beat your Kuro in a race any day.”

“I’ll hold you to that,” Shiro had promised.

But they were a long ways from any races – by the end of October, Red was still barely comfortable with trotting around the corral, and Shiro doubted she or Keith were ready for the forest. And…and maybe Shiro was a tad reluctant to give Keith such an easy means of escape just yet.

He feared, foolish as it might have been, that as soon as he opened that corral gate, Keith would ride away forever. They hadn’t talked about that. Part of Shiro was hopeful that meant Keith would stay. Another part of him was afraid to hope at all.

They spent most of their waking hours together, though, and Shiro treasured that for as long as it might last. Between riding lessons, reading and playing piano in the library, hunting, and frequent late night excursions to the cemetery with flowers, the truce between them became what Shiro thought must be friendship. Neither of them ever called each other as such, yet it didn’t feel as though they had to for it to be so.

But some nights Keith needed space, and Shiro kept his distance. He often wondered what Keith’s life had been like as a human, what Keith was thinking of when he curled up in the library alcove and looked out the window at the stars with such longing. But they did not speak of such things. Keith did not speak of Henry, or his time at the orphanage, or his consumption. It was a simple trade-off – Shiro did not speak of his past, either, and it was much better that way. Wasn’t it?

But, as Shiro had learned all too often, his past had a way of catching up with him sooner or later.

He and Keith were out hunting when it happened. They usually took down two elk two or three nights a week, though as October progressed and winter’s chill set in, the elk were harder and harder to find. Soon they would have to find deer instead, because although it did not snow every year, Shiro had a feeling that this year would bring plenty of it.

They’d just finished feeding from the first elk when a high, terrified scream split through the air. They both tensed, exchanging looks and gravitating closer to each other, Keith slightly behind Shiro, both of their heads tilted, scenting. Under the smell of elk, there was something different, something that did not belong here – Keith grabbed Shiro’s arm in panic.

“Human blood,” he hissed. “Why is there human blood out here, Shiro?”

“Stay close to me,” Shiro ordered, gut twisting because he _knew_ , he knew what it was as soon as the second scream sounded, followed by a loud, vicious, inhuman snarl. “We need to go home,” Shiro said, voice tight. “Now.”

But there were footsteps, audible now, and the scent was coming closer – if they ran, they’d be seen. So they would have to hide instead. Shiro yanked Keith down behind a nearby pile of mossy boulders, and they huddled there amidst the pine needles and thick brush as the intruders approached. There was a crack where one of the boulders was balanced atop another, and the two of them peered through it, sides touching and hearts pounding.

Then three Galra dragging three bleeding human boys strode into view. Keith covered his mouth and nose – whether to stop himself from making noise or to stop himself from smelling it, Shiro didn’t know. Two of the Galra were grunts, soldiers, nothing more. But the other one was a Druid. Not just any Druid, either – _her._ Each and every one of Shiro’s scars ached with phantom pain, the scar over his nose most of all. Keith glanced at him, brow creasing. He knew. He knew Shiro was afraid.

The boys were all alive, though they were covered in cuts – each one deliberate and precise, and as they came closer Shiro saw they were in fact symbols, just like the men at the factory had said. Their necks were bitten, too, scarlet against white, and Shiro pushed away the memory of Keith lying dead, covered in red.

The boys weren’t thralled. Shiro didn’t understand that, didn’t understand any of this – the Galra had humans at their garrison, more than enough. Why go to measures like this…and why carve such things into their flesh? If Haggar was involved…he did not want to know.

But he didn’t have a choice – one of the boys screamed again, trying to hit the soldier holding him, and Haggar stopped in her tracks, yellow eyes narrowing in irritation. “Enough,” she declared. “We will do it here, get it over with. Drop them.”

The soldiers did, and the boys tried to run but were stopped abruptly by Haggar’s magic. Shiro’s skin prickled. Keith’s hand pressed against his forearm, uncertain, and just as afraid as he was. They should have run while they had the chance. They should have run. They should have –

The forest exploded with violet light and the boys crumpled to their knees, the symbols on their skin glowing blindingly bright. Their screams echoed, then cut off, and the light was gone, and an eerie silence fell over the forest. No birds sang, no elk called, no wind whistled through the trees. The boys were dead. But Haggar, standing over them, glowed from within – her yellow eyes had turned the same violet as her magic, and her palms were filled with swirling energy. The soldiers stood off to the side, ears pinned back and shoulders stiff.

Then the light died, and Haggar cursed, glaring at the corpses and kicking one in frustration. “I almost had it this time,” she snapped. “Perhaps with four, it would work…”

One of the soldiers cleared his throat. “Lady Haggar, the Prince grows weary of your lack of success. He has given you many chances already, but –”

“Oh, do shut up,” she said. “If he tries to put a stop to my experiments, I will give him a painful reminder as to why his sire sent me to this godforsaken place.”

“King Zarkon sent you here to protect Prince Lotor,” the other soldier retorted. “That is all.”

Haggar’s jaw worked. “Unless you wish to be the subjects of my next trial, I’d advise you to keep quiet and return to your posts. That is not an idle threat.”

The guards blanched and hastily obeyed, picking up the bodies and hurrying off through the trees. Haggar lingered, pressing her hands to a bloodstain on the grass and frowning. “Next time,” she vowed. “Next time, I will find that ancient, lost link to our people…to our sireless origins in that first, great sacrifice. I must.”

With that, she stood, brushed off her skirts, and strode off after the guards.

Only when the sound of their footsteps had faded entirely did Shiro get to his feet, bracing himself on the boulders and trying to control the trembling of his hands. Keith stood with him, looking up, worried. “Shiro?” he said tentatively. “What was that?”

“Evil,” Shiro said shortly, shaking his head and walking briskly away, images flickering through his head against his own volition.

Keith hurried to catch up. “Shiro, talk to me. You knew them, didn’t you? They were vampires, too, but a different kind –”

“Stop,” Shiro snapped, and Keith fell silent, stung. Shiro kept walking. If Keith was going to leave, he might as well do it now. Shiro almost wanted him to. Almost. It would be better for both of them –

Keith caught his arm. “Shiro,” he said, brows drawn together. “Why are you afraid of them?”

Shiro looked ahead, teeth gritted. “Some things are better left unsaid,” he retorted. “Let go of me, Keith.”

Keith didn’t. “No,” he said. “Why didn’t you tell me there were other vampires, evil vampires? Why didn’t you tell me they had magic, if that’s what it was?”

“Because you didn’t want to hear any of it!” Shiro exclaimed, and Keith did let go at that, taking a step back as Shiro whirled on him. “You didn’t want any of this, and you don’t care about what I have to say, I know that! I know you’re just biding your time until you can ride away from me and my estate because you barely tolerate my company and see me as pathetically lonely and filthy rich and the cause for your dearest friend’s death, and you wouldn’t be wrong, and I could hardly blame you for leaving! So go, Keith. Just go.”

Keith swallowed, his eyes wide and hurt. “I’m not,” he said. “Biding my time.”

Shiro’s mouth twisted, disbelieving. “You would be a fool not to; not to just take the wealth so freely offered to you and run far away from me.”

“Then I am a fool, because I don’t want to run away from you,” Keith whispered, taking a careful step closer. “And I don’t blame you for Henry’s death, either.”

“You should,” Shiro said. “It’s my fault. If I hadn’t turned you, he’d still be alive.”

“But I wouldn’t.”

“You told me you didn’t know if this was better than dying,” Shiro muttered. “You asked me if I found it better. I don’t, Keith. I don’t find it better. It’s been almost a hundred years, and it’s still not better. It won’t be better for you, either. And that’s my fault. I did this to you.”

“You need to go back home,” Keith told him, in the same tone he used with Red. “It will be dawn soon, and you should get some sleep.”

“And you should give up and leave,” Shiro said stubbornly.

“I’m not doing that, so shush,” Keith snapped, and grabbed his arm again, and this time Shiro let Keith march him all the way back to the estate, because he was too stunned to do anything else. Keith didn’t want to leave. _Keith didn’t want to leave._

“Why don’t you want to leave?” Shiro asked dumbly when they reached the gardens.

Keith scoffed. “You’ve given me more than I could have ever imagined,” he retorted. “You gave me a bed, a roof over my head – and a grand roof, at that – a horse, riding lessons, and all the books I could ever want; but most of all you gave me what I never thought was possible. I was dying, Shiro. I was resigned to death, I died, and then you gave me a second chance at living. And it is better, for the record, even if I have to drink elk blood and sleep most of the day. I have a better life here, with you, than I ever had at the orphanage or the factory. So…so there. That’s why, you idiot. Don’t act like it’s a burden for me to spend time with you when you’re so damned kind and charming all the time. You’re a goddamn gentleman, not a monster, get that through your thick skull, okay?”

Shiro blinked at him, speechless. He was fairly certain that was the longest string of words Keith had ever said to him.

Keith let go of his arm and looked away resolutely. “Just. Go to sleep. And stop assuming that you know what I want, because you’re probably wrong. Goodnight. Day. Whatever.” Keith left him standing in the garden, alone and astonished.

“Okay,” he whispered to the night.

*

There was a reason Shiro disliked sleeping. It went hand in hand with dreaming.

And whenever he thought the dreams – or memories, or hallucinations, or whatever they were – had left him, they returned to haunt him all over again.

The arena roared with sound, but as always it was muted. Shiro didn’t care about them – they were like flies on a wall, far beneath his interest, onlookers he tolerated only because they stayed out of his way. His arms were already bloodstained up to the elbows – he must have ripped apart the last one with his bare hands, he could barely remember. It didn’t matter, anyway. He’d killed them, just like all the others. It was what he was meant to do.

He could feel her eyes on him, and his body rippled with anticipation. The witch only paid attention to the arena when there was something at stake. Most fights were not fights at all – it didn’t matter if they handed the human a sword or a shield, they were dead within minutes, if not seconds. It grew dull quickly, and if that pattern continued Shiro tended to play with his prey, just to make it more exciting – not for the crowd, but for himself. It was amusing when they thought they had a chance at making it out of the arena alive.

But this time, the gate lifted and another vampire stumbled out. Shiro balked, though only for a moment. This was new. The vampire was armed with…a knife? No. A long, sharp shard of glass. Shiro’s eyes narrowed. Hardly a weapon at all. He bared his fangs and started forward, claws unsheathed.

The other vampire hissed at him, body lowering, ears flicking back. Shiro growled – the other vampire knew this was an unfair fight, then. He was smaller than Shiro, with long black hair that hung haphazardly in his face, dressed in…gray flannel pajamas? Wait. The pajamas were soaked in blood. Human blood. The other vampire had tears in his eyes. Shiro stopped short, staring at him. He was familiar. Shiro knew him.

She glared at him, Shiro felt the force of her magic wearing on him, knew that he had never been able to fight against it and win, and knew that this time would be no different.

But Shiro knew him.

“Enough,” she warned, and Shiro sprung forward, and the other vampire barely got out of the way in time, stabbing at the air where Shiro had been with the glass. Shiro scented him, and his eyes widened. No. No, it couldn’t be – Shiro wasn’t a sire, he wasn’t even a proper vampire, so it was impossible that this vampire could be _his_ …but he was.

He buried the glass shard in Shiro’s arm. Shiro snarled and shook him off. The movement dislodged the vampire’s shirt slightly, enough to expose the scar on his chest. Shiro froze. The other vampire did, too.

“Kill him,” Haggar said, her voice echoing through Shiro’s head endlessly, inescapable, but Shiro did not want that, he had had enough of killing, this one was his, his, his, and Shiro would die himself before obeying her in this. He tore the glass out of his arm and dropped it onto the sand.

Then he was _burning_ , and screaming, her magic searing through him, through the _poison_ she’d forced down his throat, and he knew he did not have a choice, had never really had a choice, and then there was flesh under his fangs and thick cloying blood in his mouth and Keith was begging him to stop and –

“Shiro. Shiro, wake up.”

Shiro’s eyes opened to Keith, peering down at him, and he panicked, throwing the sheets off and gasping, expecting to feel sand and blood instead of soft linens. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he was saying, over and over, and Keith steadied him with a hand on his shoulder, and Shiro didn’t know why he was there. It was still light outside, and Keith was wearing his long nightshirt, hair mussed. Shiro must have cried out and woken him.

“You were having a nightmare,” Keith whispered. “You sounded scared.” He paused. “You _were_ scared.”

“Yes,” Shiro admitted, drawing a clammy hand over his face, seeing no point in denying it now.

“What were you scared of?” Keith asked. He sat down on the edge of the bed.

“Myself,” Shiro said, barely audible. “Go back to bed, Keith.”

“You need sleep more than me,” Keith told him firmly. “Why are you scared of yourself?”

Shiro exhaled. “I’ve done terrible things,” he said. “Most of the nightmares are real. Please just go…”

“Do you really want me to go?” Keith asked, and it was a simple question but it struck Shiro to the core. “Because if that is what you really want, I will. But if you are trying to hide what you consider weakness from me, then I’m not going anywhere.”

“It is weakness,” Shiro said, weakly. It was also a weakness that he couldn’t bring himself to tell Keith to leave, albeit weakness of a different kind.

“What terrible things did you do?” Keith asked. Casual, matter-of-fact, as if enquiring about the weather.

Shiro closed his eyes. He did not want to see the disgust on Keith’s face, but Keith did deserve the truth, once and for all. “Those vampires we saw in the forest,” he said, “they are part of a large faction called the Galra. They prey solely on humans. They have a garrison in the very heart of this forest, led by a cruel prince named Lotor. When I was still human, I tried to defeat them – I had no idea how many of them there were, or what they were at all, and I was captured. The woman in the forest, her name is Lady Haggar, and she is what they call a Druid, a vampire with powerful dark magic. A witch. She experiments on humans and vampires alike, and I was one of them – she turned me not with a sire but with a serum. They forced me to drink it after draining my blood through needles and plastic tubes. I barely remember the turning. I was told that I killed at least a dozen within an hour of the transformation.”

“Shiro,” Keith whispered, and he didn’t sound disgusted. Not yet, anyway.

“Takashi,” Shiro said, opening his eyes and looking at Keith dully. “My first name is Takashi.”

“Takashi,” Keith repeated, softer, and Shiro’s chest ached at the sound. “Why don’t you go by that?”

“I was Takashi when I was human,” Shiro said. “It has been a long, long time since then…and I have changed. I am not that man anymore. When I was with the Galra, I was hardly a man at all.”

“What were you, then? A monster?”

“Yes,” Shiro said. “Yes, Keith, I was.” Keith didn’t argue, this time. He just waited. “They put me in an arena. As a source of entertainment. I was so bloodthirsty that it delighted them. They put so many humans in that ring with me, and I killed them all without a second thought. I didn’t even feed from most of them – it was just. Murder. Slaughter.”

Keith was watching him, expression inscrutable.

“They called me their Champion,” Shiro added. “Like it was an honor. Perhaps, in their own twisted way, the Galra thought it was. I didn’t care about their titles or their admiration. I only cared about the blood. And so they gave me blood, until…until even they couldn’t keep up with my bloodlust.”

“What did they do?”

“They let me go,” Shiro sighed. “A decade after capturing me, they let me go.”

“And did you continue to murder by the dozens when you were freed?”

“No,” Shiro said. “No, some semblance of sanity returned to me, and with it came the guilt. And that guilt has never left me, and never should.”

“Do you remember what you told me when I apologized to Henry?” Keith asked. “You told me he couldn’t hear me, and that I would only make myself feel worse. Take your own advice, Shiro. Those people you killed – they’re long dead. They can’t hear you.”

“But I can hear them,” Shiro whispered, and was mortified when his voice trembled and broke.

“Hey, shh,” Keith said, and he was frowning…but in concern, not disapproval. “You’re not alone in this, okay? Not anymore. I’ll stay with you while you sleep, if you want. Back at the orphanage…when we couldn’t sleep, we would share beds with people. It helps.”

Shiro looked at him, a lump in his throat. “How can you even bear the thought of sleeping beside me, now that you know what I’ve done?”

Keith folded his arms. “The way I see it,” he said, “there’s Takashi, the Champion, and Shiro. You’re Shiro now. You’re not the Champion, not anymore.”

“It isn’t that simple –”

“It is,” Keith said firmly. “Let it be simple, Shiro. Let this, right now, be simple.”

“I don’t know how,” Shiro admitted. “Everything is so tangled, it seems.”

“I’m not,” Keith said, and Shiro’s breath caught when Keith drew back the rumpled sheets and slipped into bed beside him. “I’m staying, and you’re sleeping. No nightmares allowed.”

“Oh, and I don’t get a say in this?” Shiro managed.

“You can push me out of bed if you’d like,” Keith offered, already closing his eyes and nestling into the pillows. “Though I’d prefer it if you didn’t.”

“You’re a strange one, you know that?”

“Look at the pot calling the kettle black,” Keith mumbled. “Go to sleep, Takashi.”

“Yes, sir,” Shiro relented, and saw Keith’s mouth twitch into a faint smile just before he closed his eyes.

When sleep found him again, it was blessedly peaceful.

*

Shiro awoke to warmth. He hadn’t been so warm in a long time, and pressed closer to its source with a pleased sigh…before his eyes snapped open and he realized the source was _Keith_ and he was half-hard in his pajama pants, flush against Keith’s back, and Keith was sleeping, blissfully unaware, in his arms. Oh, dear. This was…not good. Shiro was just about to disentangle himself as carefully and quickly as possible when Keith yawned and woke up, too.

Shiro instantly closed his eyes and let his breathing level out, praying Keith would think he was still asleep. He couldn’t be blamed for this if he was still asleep…right? Right. Probably. Hopefully… _what was Keith doing?_

Keith had moved back against him, a small movement but a movement nonetheless, and sighed softly, head arching back just so. And again, too firm to be accidental, and Shiro’s heart leapt into his throat at the sensation. Keith wasn’t moving away. Keith was slowly shifting his ass back onto Shiro’s crotch, breath hitching audibly, and then ceasing altogether when Shiro’s hand fell upon his hip, heavy and unmistakable.

Keith froze. “Sh – iro?” he whispered, voice cracking.

“Keith,” Shiro murmured, squeezing his hip lightly. Keith was tense and trembling so he let go, but Keith did not immediately shy away.

“I – I’m sorry –” Keith started uncertainly.

“Don’t be,” Shiro said, and Keith’s breath hitched again. Then he was rolling away, and Shiro’s gut twisted unhappily…but he was just rolling over to face Shiro, eyes huge and faintly glowing in the darkness of the bedroom, lips parted. “Keith,” he said again, lower.

Keith blinked at him. “Are…are you – do you want –?”

“Do _you_ want?” Shiro countered.

Keith’s eyes flickered. “Yes,” he breathed, shuffling closer, “yes, Shiro – Takashi – I want. You. I want you.” He hesitated. “But…”

“But nothing,” Shiro whispered. “It has been a long, long time since I have felt for anyone what I feel for you.”

"Shiro," Keith said again, his eyes blown wide, shocked. "You..."

"Yes?" Shiro prompted gently, giving him time to let the realization sink in.

"You want me," Keith whispered, "too?"

"Yes," Shiro told him, and Keith sort of shivered at that, the shock not leaving his eyes. "For longer than you have wanted me, I'm sure."

Keith shook his head, small, infinitesimal. "But...I'm just -"

"No," Shiro said firmly, cupping his jaw and drawing Keith's startled face towards his own, until their foreheads bumped together and their noses touched. Keith's lashes fluttered and he inhaled - inhaled Shiro's scent, his sire's scent, oh, Shiro was not strong enough for this.

"No," he said again, softer, thumb tracing over Keith's cheekbone, "there is no 'just' about you, Keith."

Keith swallowed thickly, eyes falling fully shut. "Kiss me," he breathed, and Shiro could do nothing but obey. Keith had never kissed someone before, that much was obvious - he barely moved, but his nails dug into Shiro's shoulder and he made a little sound when Shiro angled his head to the side, down onto the pillow, so Shiro could kiss him more deeply, kiss him better, kiss him the way he deserved to be kissed. It was awful to think that no one had ever kissed Keith, that he had gone this long without that simple tenderness; yet Shiro was selfishly glad of it; glad to have Keith all to himself, glad to give all of himself to Keith.

Keith got bolder when Shiro opened his mouth, finally pressing back into it, hands sliding up to the back of Shiro's neck. He was a quick study in this, too. His fangs were out and Shiro tasted both of their blood in the kiss and it was nothing like human blood, nothing like animal blood; it was rust and rain and power, a shared magic between them that trembled in the air as they broke away from each other, like the last echoing peals of a distant church bell.

Keith licked his lips, reddened from more than just kissing. His face looked small in Shiro's palm, but it was an illusion of weakness – Shiro could feel the hard line of his jaw and the roughness of his skin there, stubble rasping against the pad of his thumb; could feel the flexing muscles in his shoulder where Shiro gripped it lightly. That shocked wonder was still in his eyes, but there was a fierceness there, too, a spark that Shiro hoped would never, ever go away.

"Are you just going to kiss me?" Keith asked, voice uneven, but also unafraid. Like a challenge.

"I would do anything you asked of me," Shiro said honestly, and Keith stared at him, pink face turning red once more.

"I...I don't know," Keith mumbled. "I don't – I don't know what I'm doing. What to do. Do...you?"

Shiro smiled slightly, and squeezed his shoulder in reassurance. "Yes," he said. "I do. Do you trust me?"

Keith nodded again. Not small, this time, but certain. Eager.

Shiro kissed him again and rolled, felt Keith tense briefly before going lax as Shiro settled atop him. Shiro left his mouth for his neck, worrying at the skin with his blunt teeth until Keith let out a definite moan, hands twitching and grasping at the sheets as Shiro sucked and bit bruises into his throat.

Shiro lifted his head to say, "You can touch me. You can do whatever you want here...remember?"

Keith shivered again and grabbed Shiro's hair.

Shiro slid up Keith's nightshirt slowly, pausing when it was at mid-thigh. Keith's cock tented the white fabric and he made a strangled sound when Shiro rubbed at it through the shirt, hips squirming away, then bucking up. "Yes?" Shiro asked, needing to be sure, needing to know that this was right, that he didn't ruin this like he had so many other things.

“Yes, yes,” Keith gasped, impatient now, and Shiro slid the shirt up the rest of the way and Keith lay there nervously as Shiro looked at him. God, he was beautiful. His cock was wet and heavy against Shiro’s palm when Shiro took it in hand and Keith’s moan sounded as if it had been ripped out of him, eyes squeezing shut as Shiro stroked him and continued to kiss his way across Keith’s neck and collarbones.

Keith pushed him away briefly and Shiro’s heart skipped a beat, but it was only so that Keith could tug the nightshirt up and over his head, and then he was naked and pleading Shiro to touch him again and Shiro was on him at once. Keith’s skin was softest over his ribs and at his waist; easily yielding under Shiro’s roaming hands. He was so sensitive, wonderfully responsive to every touch, gasping wordlessly when Shiro twisted his wrist and arching up with a whine when Shiro pushed back his foreskin fully, mercilessly teasing at the leaking crown of his cock until his fingers were covered in Keith’s helpless arousal.

Then Shiro paused over Keith’s chest, exhaling over the fully-healed turning scar there, and Keith shuddered violently. “You told me not to touch this again,” Shiro said.

“Forget that,” Keith snapped, breathless.

“Tell me,” Shiro said.

Keith swallowed. “Touch the mark you left on me, Shiro,” he whispered, “touch it with your hands, your mouth, your teeth, anything –”

Shiro dragged his tongue over the scar and Keith _shouted_ and came over Shiro’s fist.

Shiro groaned and moved up to kiss him through it, continuing to brush his fingertips over the mark, making Keith gasp into his mouth and arch up, against where Shiro was still aching in his pants, smearing come against the fabric. Shiro nipped at Keith’s lower lip and Keith bucked up again and Shiro felt that he was still hard, still wanting, and groaned again, louder. Keith clutched at him, frantic. Not one to disappoint, Shiro moved towards the end of the bed and between Keith’s legs so he could get his mouth on Keith’s cock.

Keith’s mouth fell open when he did. “ _Shiro_ ,” he breathed, chest heaving and shining with sweat, eyes dazed. “You – oh –”

Shiro sank down further, lashes fluttering as he tasted Keith, tasted his pleasure, sucking hard at the crown and licking over the veins, feeling Keith’s pulse beat against his tongue in a very different way. There was no blood, no death, not this time – only the sound of Keith moaning and his hands sliding slowly through Shiro’s hair, the stretch of Shiro’s jaw as he took Keith into his mouth fully, the dizzying lack of oxygen when Shiro breathed in the scent of Keith’s skin greedily.

Keith’s curses dissolved into little broken-off moans as Shiro hollowed his cheeks and stroked over Keith’s thighs, then over the tightness of his balls, teasing, and that made Keith jerk in surprise and moan loudest. Shiro pulled off and mouthed at them instead and Keith’s fingers curled sharply in his hair, almost to the point of pain. Shiro licked, more deliberately, and Keith’s thighs shifted, splaying wider, Keith’s head turning into the pillow, red face half-hidden by his hair.

“Keith,” Shiro said, lifting his head and nuzzling against Keith’s taut stomach. “Look at me.”

Keith lifted his head with effort, and he was a _mess_ , staring blearily down at Shiro like he wasn’t sure whether he was an angel or a demon, hair sticking up every which way, lips shiny and plump from kissing and biting at them, face stained with color that spread over his neck and chest, throat and shoulders stained with bruises. “I,” Keith started, “I can’t – I’m going to –”

“Yes,” Shiro said, and closed his lips over the head of Keith’s cock just as Keith shuddered and sobbed and spent, bitter and wet across Shiro’s tongue. He swallowed it all and let Keith’s cock slip from his mouth, shining with spit and softening slowly.

Keith was staring at the ceiling, chest rising and falling unevenly. Shiro tilted his head and moved off of him, lying beside him on the bed and waiting as Keith came down from his high, the blush on his skin fading with his arousal but not vanishing entirely. He was certainly still blushing when he turned his head to look at Shiro.

“How are you still dressed?” he whispered, slightly hoarse.

Shiro grinned at him, and gave into the urge to reach out and brush the black curls out of Keith’s face. “I was focusing on you,” he replied honestly, and Keith’s nose scrunched up at that, like he found it hard to believe, or didn’t understand why Shiro would do such a thing.

“What about you?” Keith asked, nervousness creeping back into his tone and expression again. He shifted closer to Shiro, and put his hand between them, until his palm pressed lightly over the evident bulge in Shiro’s pants. His fingers were shaking minutely, but Shiro felt it, and frowned.

“If you do not wish to reciprocate, there is no need,” he started, but Keith shook his head and shaped him through the fabric more confidently, though his expression was still uncertain and his lower lip was caught between his teeth.

“I may not be as gentlemanly as you, but I’m not so rude that I’d leave you like this after...that,” Keith said.

“If you only feel as if this is an obligation to fulfill –”

“It is more,” Keith whispered, “than an obligation, that I feel, right now.” He fumbled at the buttons of Shiro’s shirt and the drawstrings of his pants at the same time, both unsuccessfully. Chuckling, Shiro helped, shrugging off the shirt and then the pants, and Keith made a sound, short and startled.

“What is it?” Shiro said, all too conscious of the scars marring his body and of his achingly hard cock, thick and obvious where it curved up over his belly.

Keith sucked in a breath. “You are. Very large.”

Shiro’s eyebrows went up. “Oh?”

“I mean – large all over, not just – well, that too.” Keith hesitantly touched his arm, hand smoothing over his bicep and over his broad chest. “I did not know you were hiding all this under your fancy clothes.”

“Is that a bad thing…?”

“No!” Keith said, too loudly, and winced. “Um. No. But…do you chop down redwoods in your spare time, or haul trains all the way to Colorado? Because, frankly, this is – you are ridiculous.”

“Ridiculous,” Shiro repeated, amused. “I see.”

“I don’t think you do,” Keith said, frustrated, still tracing over Shiro’s muscles and around his scars. “For Christ’s sake, Shiro...”

“Are you mad at me?” Shiro asked in confusion.

“Furious,” Keith replied, and kissed him with not an ounce of anger, but quite a lot of determination. Pleasantly surprised, Shiro kissed him back, cradling the back of Keith’s head in one hand, soft hair sliding through his fingers. It took a great deal of effort to hold himself still and not give in to the temptation to rut against Keith like an impatient brute, but he managed, keeping himself calm and collected until Keith pulled away and said breathlessly, “Can you teach me how to suck your cock?”

“Fuck,” Shiro groaned, leaning his head against Keith’s shoulder.

“Is that a no?”

“Come here,” Shiro pleaded, and kissed him again, harder, tugging Keith up until Shiro was flat on his back and Keith was sprawled over him, looking as if he hadn’t the slightest idea how he’d gotten there. He recovered quickly, though, and before Shiro could say another word Keith was scrambling to kneel between his legs on the bed, one hand braced on Shiro’s hip and the other dangerously close to his cock.

Keith narrowed his eyes at Shiro’s cock like it was an intricate puzzle to be solved (which it absolutely was not). “I don’t think that’s going to fit,” he said bluntly, looking back up at Shiro.

Keith was going to kill him, at this rate. Eye for an eye, right? “That’s fine,” Shiro said faintly. “You don’t have to – don’t strain yourself.”

Keith stared at his cock again, devious this time, eyes darkening. “What if I want to?” he asked, voice low. “Strain myself, that is.”

“Keith,” Shiro gritted out. “Just…just touch me for now, okay?”

“Mhm,” Keith said, and curled his fingers around the base of Shiro’s cock. It was good, but not quite enough, and Keith seemed distracted by the liquid beading up at the tip – so distracted that he leaned in and licked it off. Shiro groaned and Keith blinked, and did it again, lapping around the head and then moving his hand so he could lick up the underside. He closed his lips over it, suckling at the sides until everything was wet and Keith was drooling, wiping his mouth as he pulled away and looking up at Shiro for further instruction.

“Use…use your mouth with your hand,” Shiro said. “If you sheathe your fangs you can – nngh, yes, that.”

Keith had curled his tongue around the head of Shiro’s cock and wrapped his lips around it, eyes fluttering shut as he took more of it into his mouth. He tried to go further with a slight scrape of teeth and Shiro hissed, and didn’t even realize he had a hand anchored in Keith’s hair until Keith hummed around his cock and pushed up into the touch, and pushed his mouth further onto Shiro’s cock. His eyes were watering and he was drooling but he just kept going.

“Slow, take it slow,” Shiro said, breath ragged. “Keith –”

Keith’s throat constricted around the head of his cock and Shiro moaned, half wanting to thrust deeper and half worried that Keith was going to choke himself. Keith’s throat spasmed in warning and they both shuddered. Keith retreated slightly, lips still stretched wide and obscene, eyes lifting to Shiro’s.

It was too much. Shiro pushed gently at his shoulder. “I’m not going to last –”

Keith’s nails dug into his thighs, stubborn, eyes fierce and bright as ever. He wasn’t going anywhere.

Shiro squeezed his eyes shut and came.

It…had been a while, admittedly. After a few seconds Keith made a muffled sound around his cock and pulled off, cum trickling from his parted lips and onto Shiro’s abs. There was a lot. Keith seemed fascinated by it, and only stopped pumping Shiro’s cock when Shiro nudged his hands away, mind and body sparking with pleasure through the pulses, a shock to his system. He hadn’t felt good in a long time. Definitely not this good. He’d forgotten what it was like…and he didn’t ever want to forget it again.

There was a weight on his thigh, and when Shiro opened his eyes fully he saw Keith resting his head there, gaze distant, lazily trailing his fingertips over Shiro’s hip. Shiro pet his hair and Keith sighed, shifting so that their bare legs jostled together before sitting up, exposing the strong line of his back as he turned away.

Sleepy and mildly disappointed by the lack of snuggling, Shiro watched him rise from the bed; taking a cloth from the washbasin and cleaning himself off perfunctorily. He cast a glance back at Shiro and tossed him the same cloth. Shiro caught it but didn’t use it. Not yet. He wasn’t quite ready to move.

Keith looked away and picked up his shirt where it had been discarded on the floor, slipping it over his head and crossing the room until he reached the window. It had a window seat, lined with plush cushions but rarely used, and Keith sat upon it as he drew the velvet curtains back and filled the room with silvery moonlight. There was a tension in his shoulders and Shiro sat up slightly, wiping the cloth over himself before throwing it aside, brow furrowing. Keith pressed a hand to the glass, head tipped up towards the night sky.

“Which constellation is brightest tonight?” Shiro asked.

“Andromeda,” Keith replied quietly. He kept his hand against the glass, fingers curling.

Shiro sighed. “What’s wrong?”

“I understand, now,” Keith said, looking at him over his shoulder. “Why you chose me.”

Shiro was suddenly very cold. “I didn’t –”

“It’s alright,” Keith continued, looking at the floor. “You seem like a generous and considerate lover, and I’m sure you noticed I was not exactly complaining. If it was a catamite you wanted, you chose wisely. I’ve never been attracted to women. So I suppose it worked out, in the end.”

Shiro’s eyes widened and he sat up fully, shaking his head. “Keith, that’s not what I –”

“No, I’m not…I’m not protesting this arrangement, Shiro,” he said. “It is a fair one, and it’s a relief, actually, to know that I can repay you in some way. I am happy to share your bed in return for you letting me stay and have a small share in your wealth –”

“Keith, stop,” Shiro said, horrified. Keith glanced up at him, confused, and closed his mouth when he saw whatever awful expression Shiro was making. “You aren’t – I didn’t want a _catamite_ , I would never take advantage of…” He took a shaky breath, composing himself. “You owe me nothing, Keith,” he said firmly. “There is no debt between us, none, you hear me?”

Keith frowned. “But there is, of course there is,” he insisted. “You are a rich man, a powerful man, and I am an orphan with nothing – you would not have taken me off the streets and given me this life unless you had something to gain from it.”

“Is that what you think?!” Shiro demanded, panicky. “Is that what you thought just now, when we – when I –”

Keith looked at him with a mixture of alarm and bewilderment. “So…so you didn’t turn me with the intention of taking me to your bed?”

“No!” Shiro exclaimed. “Not unless you wanted me to, and I thought you did, but it seems I misread that terribly – and I promised I would never touch you if it was unwanted, and I meant it. I will not, I never will again, and I am sorry that you ever thought…that I ever thought…” He trailed off, bowing his head.

“Wait, wait, no,” Keith said, getting up hastily from the window seat and returning to the bed cautiously, his face open and earnest. “Shiro, I wanted it. I want you, I meant that.”

“No, you wanted to repay me,” Shiro bit out, words sour on his tongue.

Keith exhaled heavily and sat down on the bed again. “I have never received anything that did not have a price. And you are so far above me in status and I know you know this, and know what assumptions people would make.”

“I am not above you,” Shiro whispered. “Not anymore, Keith, not since I turned you and brought you to my home. Our home. You are my equal here, nothing less. I’m sorry if I did not make that clear.”

Keith went still. “…what?” he said in a small voice.

“If you were to be my lover, we would be equals in that, too,” Shiro said. “Everything I have is yours. There is no price to pay.”

Keith shook his head. “But…” He swallowed. “If you don’t want a catamite, then what do you want? What…what would I be to you, if we were lovers? It isn’t as if we could get married.”

“Vampires are not meant to be solitary,” Shiro said. “Most have packs…families. And the closest bond that exists within those families is the bond between mates. Those who vow to protect and cherish each other for as long as they both live.”

“You want me to be your mate,” Keith whispered.

“It isn’t about what I want,” Shiro muttered. “Such a bond is never one-sided, and I would never wish it to be –”

“Yes,” Keith said.

“What?” Shiro said.

“Shiro, yes,” Keith said, climbing back onto the bed and curling up beside him. “It isn’t one-sided. I told you I want to stay. With you.”

Shiro searched his face. “You understand that nothing is owed?”

“I understand,” Keith said. “I hardly believe it, but I understand, Shiro.” He smiled, and it was with a relief that they both felt. “You have given me so much, and now to think that you would give me yourself, too…it will take time to get used to.”

“Fortunately, we have plenty of that,” Shiro countered, smiling back at last.

Keith curled closer, and then they were snuggling, and it was as perfect as Shiro had hoped. Keith paused before throwing an arm over Shiro’s side, something bold and proprietary in the gesture. But that was nothing compared to when Keith reached up with his other hand and cupped Shiro’s face, the path of his palm slow and reverential as he whispered, “Mine.”

“Yours,” Shiro said, kissing his thumb. “I’m yours.”

Keith’s thumb was replaced by his lips, and this time the kiss they shared was chaste and slow. When Keith broke away he was smiling again, wider than before.

“I just remembered,” he chuckled. “Tomorrow is my birthday.”

*

Shiro committed November 13th to memory, even though Keith insisted that they didn’t have to celebrate at all – technically, his nineteenth birthday had been his last. But that didn’t stop Shiro from giving him a present, of a sort.

They’d slept through the whole day and half the night, so that morning they were both much more awake than usual. Pierre made them coffee and as always offered them breakfast; as always they turned him down and told him to enjoy it with the rest of the staff. Shiro took Keith to the stables afterwards, both of them bundled up in hats and coats and walking closer together than usual. It was thrilling every time their hands brushed, even if it was through their gloves. Shiro wondered if he would ever get used to this.

“Good morning, sirs,” the head groom greeted as they strode in. Keith’s chest puffed out a little – he was practically glowing.

Shiro shot him a small smile and nodded to the groom. “Good morning, David. Have Kuro or Rose-Red been turned out to pasture yet?”

“No, sir, they’re in their stalls,” David replied. “Would you like me to send a boy to fetch their tack?”

“Yes, thank you,” Shiro said. Keith looked to him with dawning excitement. “Have another tie them to the posts outside, but don’t bother with grooming, Keith and I will tend to that.”

David nodded. “Er…sir, would you prefer that we tie them on opposite posts, or…”

“Is Red in season?” Shiro asked.

“No, sir, just came out of it.” David frowned. “But, you know how she is, and that Kuro is a fine beast, wouldn’t want anything to happen to –”

“Just tie them the normal distance,” Shiro said. “They’ll have to learn to get along eventually.”

*

When Shiro and Keith returned to their horses with the grooming buckets, they found the closest thing to a real Mexican standoff that Shiro had seen in a while.

Kuro and Red were tied with at least six feet between them, but Red had turned so her body was almost parallel with the post, facing Kuro, who had backed away from her as much as the halter rope would allow him. Red’s ears were pinned and her head was lowered, lips curling back, tail flicking, and hooves stomping hard. Kuro had his proud head raised fully and ears pricked, nostrils flared as he snorted nervously and pawed at the earth. The whites of his eyes showed when he looked to Shiro, and if horses could speak Shiro was fairly certain Kuro would be saying, _Save me from this madwoman._

“Red, don’t be like that,” Keith scolded, approaching her carefully. He needn’t have bothered; she shifted out of her attack stance as soon as he came into view and nosed harmlessly at his shoulder like she hadn’t just been on the verge of attempting murder.

Kuro snorted, thoroughly disconcerted, and only settled down when Shiro started brushing him. Even then, he shied away whenever Red so much as breathed in his direction. “She’s not that scary, you big baby,” Shiro murmured. “I think the two of you have potential, actually.” Kuro shifted and snorted at him in what Shiro could only imagine was adamant disagreement.

Meanwhile, Keith was braiding Red’s mane and tail and she was standing perfectly still and well-behaved. Keith was humming something under his breath – one of the songs Shiro played for him, he realized, Chopin’s best nocturne. Warmth filled Shiro’s chest and he smiled helplessly. Keith caught him looking and stopped mid-hum, self-conscious.

“Don’t stop,” Shiro said. “I was enjoying the music.”

“Music, hmph,” Keith retorted, busying himself with another braid, more complex than the others. “I’m afraid humming is the extent of my abilities, my singing is appalling. The nuns always put me in the back during choir.”

“Your braiding abilities are quite impressive, however,” Shiro remarked. “Wherever did you pick _that_ up?”

“Oh,” Keith said, looking down at the russet braid in his hands and frowning. “I braided hair at the orphanage.”

“Ah,” Shiro said, trying to tamp down his disappointment. Just because he and Keith were intimate now and Keith knew of _his_ past didn’t mean Keith would open up about everything.

But then Keith sighed and added, “There was a little girl, Adelita, I always braided her hair. I was like her big brother; she had no one else.”

“Was?” Shiro asked.

“Yes,” Keith said briskly, tying off the braid and stepping back to admire his handiwork. “She was the source of my consumption, and succumbed to it awhile before I did.”

“I’m sorry,” Shiro murmured.

Keith shook his head. “I’d like to think she’s in a better place. This world was too cruel to her, anyway.”

“Who knows?” Shiro said. “If beings like us exist, anything is possible.”

Keith nodded. “If anyone deserved Heaven and eternal peace, it was Adelita.” He cleared his throat and looked at Shiro, lips quirked. “But enough reminiscing…I believe we have somewhere to be?”

“That we do,” Shiro declared. “Happy birthday, Keith – we’re going riding.”

*

The forest was more shady than sunny, and it was easy to guide their horses away from the bright rays that streamed down through the canopy here and there. Red was excitable, occasionally breaking into a trot or pulling at her bit, but Keith handled her well, just as Shiro knew he would.

Kuro had walked this path before and fell into the natural lead with his long, easy stride and unwavering sense of direction. Red still made him nervous from time to time, but Shiro and Keith were calm, and it translated to the horses. They were civil as long as there was space kept between them.

The ride was slow and meandering, passing through secluded glens and beside little ponds teaming with frogs and tiny black minnows that darted from sunbeam to sunbeam. They were following a narrow stream that had been here as long as Shiro had, its watery song burbling through the trees with increasing volume as they approached their destination.

When at last they did, Keith gasped.

It was a sight to see – the waterfall tumbled over the sheer cliff in wide ribbons of water, made iridescent by the sun sparkling off of them. They stood at the top of a path that led down to the pool at the bottom, which was shrouded in mist and shaded by the cliff at this time of day. By afternoon, it would be far too bright for them to stay, but for now it was cool and safe.

“It’s magical,” Keith whispered, shaking his head in awe. “Like a hidden oasis.”

“I thought you might like it,” Shiro said. “The pool is quite shallow, and the bank makes a comfortable place to rest. If you want.”

Keith nodded, beaming at him. “I do,” he said. “I really do.”

They tied the horses a safe distance apart at the top, shed their shoes, rolled up their pants, and raced each other to the pool. Keith was laughing and flushed by the time they reached it, and Shiro swept him up in his arms and kissed him because he was too lovely not to. Keith threw his arms around Shiro’s neck and pulled him closer, and Shiro could feel Keith’s smile against his lips.

“Thank you,” Keith whispered. “I know you said I don’t owe you, but…” He bit his lip. “When is _your_ birthday?”

Shiro snorted. “You’re going to laugh.”

“What? Why?”

“It’s Leap Day,” Shiro sighed. “February 29th.”

“Oh, dear,” Keith giggled. “That _is_ unlucky.”

“Luck is not exactly my strong suit,” Shiro agreed dryly.

“Hmph,” Keith said, arms still around Shiro’s neck. “Then we’ll just have to celebrate it for two days each year to make up for it. Oh, no, don’t you try to talk me out of it,” he warned. “If you do nice things for me, I get to do them for you, too. That’s not about owing debts, that’s about being a good partner. Which I aim to be, just so you know.”

“You already are,” Shiro assured him, stroking his hair. “You are more than I deserve, Keith.”

“Hush,” Keith said. “We must do something about that self-esteem of yours. You have every reason to be an utterly arrogant ass, you know – you have an estate, all the coin you could want, the finest suits money can buy, a dozen horses, two dozen servants, lovely gardens, a beautiful forest with a beautiful waterfall, and a devastatingly handsome face.”

“And you,” Shiro said. “I have you, too.”

“Yes, but I am hardly a hot commodity –”

“I beg to differ,” Shiro murmured, nosing into his jaw and making Keith shiver. “Do you want me to be an utterly arrogant ass?”

Keith’s lips parted. “Well,” he said, “maybe not utterly. Maybe just a little arrogant, sometimes, when you should be.”

“And when would that be, hm?”

“When anyone questions your authority,” Keith whispered, breath warm on the shell of his ear. “When anyone for a second doubts that you are the most powerful man in this city, if not the entire county. When anyone threatens you or demeans you because you are not like them. Because you are _better than them._ ”

Shiro’s fangs had unsheathed without him noticing, and they prickled along Keith’s skin. Keith didn’t stop him. “You like that, don’t you?” he said, almost a growl. “You like my power, you like knowing that few would dare cross me, you like that I have a reputation.”

“Yes,” Keith hissed, unable to deny it.

“You like having all that power to yourself, too,” Shiro realized. “Do you like knowing that I could rip apart anyone who hurt you if you asked me to? Do you like knowing that they will fear and envy you in equal measure when they see you at my side? Do you like knowing that when they are reduced to dirt and worms we will still be here, together, even better off than we are now?”

“Shiro,” Keith breathed, both of them shifted, claws digging into each other’s skin. “Lord, you really are godless.”

“Of course,” Shiro purred. “And you know what else?”

“What,” Keith whispered.

Shiro smirked and pushed him into the pool.

Keith shrieked and landed with a resounding splash in the shallows, spitting out a little fountain of water and glowering at Shiro. “I take it back,” Keith grumbled, “you’re already an ass.”

“A devastatingly handsome one, though,” Shiro reminded him, stripping off his coat and rolling up his sleeves. Keith stopped glowering and started ogling instead. Shiro waded to him and leaned in as if for a kiss, only to splash him when he got close enough.

Keith stood, hands curling into loose fists. “Oh, so _that’s_ your game, you scoundrel!”

“Scoundrel? I thought I was a gentleman!” Shiro gasped, mock-offended.

“No, a scoundrel! An absolute blasted ruffian –” Keith splashed him in the face and Shiro cackled and stumbled back, hitting him with another handful of cold water. Keith plucked one of the cattails growing at the banks and swatted at him with it in retaliation. Shiro picked a longer one and smacked it against Keith’s like a sword, eventually making both of the ends explode into cottony fluff that whirled through the air and got stuck in their hair and in Keith’s mouth, prompting a good five minutes of disgusted spluttering and several dunkings underwater.

By the end of it, both of them were soaked through, hair dripping and hearts light from laughing. “Our clothes are ruined,” Keith pointed out, plucking one of many cattail seeds from Shiro’s shirt.

“Good thing we have so many of them,” Shiro retorted impishly.

Keith gave him a look of fond exasperation and shook his head. “I’m drying off on the bank so I don’t ruin Red’s saddle, too. Care to join me?”

“Always,” Shiro said easily.

Keith turned pink but let Shiro lay beside him on the cool earth, their hands touching and then interlocking. Shiro rubbed his thumb over Keith’s wrist and Keith sighed, eyes falling shut. “This was a good gift,” he said.

“I’m glad,” Shiro murmured. “I like seeing you happy.”

Keith smiled at that. “I like seeing you happy, too,” he said. “You never smiled, when we first met.”

“Neither did you,” Shiro said. “It seems like a long time ago…but it was not very long at all.”

“Sometimes things can change a lot in a little time.” Keith wasn’t smiling anymore when he said it.

“Yes, I suppose so,” Shiro said, rolling onto his side to look at Keith and squeezing his hand. “What’s on your mind, Keith?”

Keith opened his eyes. “So many things,” he admitted. “This doesn’t feel real. You and I. This.” He lifted their joined hands. “I spent so many years convincing myself that I could free myself of my sinful thoughts and desires and now…”

“They aren’t sinful,” Shiro told him firmly. “Just because an old book and some nuns tell you they are, doesn’t make it true. They don’t know the first thing about you, and us, and how we feel.”

“I was sure there was something wrong with me,” Keith said. “I still wonder…I can’t help but wonder.” He exhaled. “Henry wasn’t just my best friend. I think…I think he was like me. We never talked about it. Of course. Nobody ever talks about it. But…there were moments. You know? When I would look at him, and he would look at me, and it would feel like something…something more. Almost dangerous.”

“Did you love him?” Shiro asked.

Keith let out a shaky breath. “I think so,” he said. “I don’t really know what love feels like, because I never let myself feel it. But if I had…”

“You can,” Shiro said. “Feel it.”

“With you?” Keith’s eyes softened. “I’d like to try.” He turned his head to Shiro. “Have you ever been in love?”

“When I was human, yes,” Shiro said. “There was a woman, in Japan. We were to be engaged…but that was before my ship sailed, and never returned.”

“A woman?” Keith considered it. “So you favor both sexes?”

Shiro shrugged. “I don’t usually favor anyone, truth be told. Attraction is rare, for me.”

“Hmm,” Keith said. “What was her name? The woman?”

“I forgot,” Shiro said.

“But you loved her?”

“I forgot because I loved her,” Shiro replied.

“Oh,” Keith murmured. He sighed and tucked himself against Shiro’s side, their joined hands falling over Shiro’s chest. “I don’t want to forget Henry,” he said.

“Then don’t,” Shiro said.

“I don’t have a photograph of him,” Keith said.

“Make your own,” Shiro said. “Paint him.”

“I can’t paint,” Keith mumbled.

“Have you ever tried?”

Keith looked at him, thoughtful. “No,” he said. “Not yet.”

“Then try,” Shiro urged.

Keith nodded, and closed his eyes again, looking more content than before.

By the time their clothes had dried, the sun was dangerously high in the sky and the pool was more sunny than shady. The two of them hurried back up to the horses, who were grazing in their own respective areas and ignoring each other. Red was reluctant to exchange the sweet meadow grass for the bit, but Keith always managed to persuade her in the end.

When they were both in the saddle, Keith said, “I’ll race you back.”

“You don’t even know the way,” Shiro protested.

“I’ll bet you I do,” Keith countered. Red felt his excitement and chewed at the bit, impatient.

“You’ve never gone faster than a trot on her,” Shiro added. “You could fall off.”

“I could, but I won’t.”

Kuro had picked up on the mare’s readiness to run and shifted under Shiro with similar anticipation. “Don’t make me regret saying yes,” Shiro relented.

“Oh, you’ll be regretting it, because you’re going to lose,” Keith declared, shortening the reins and tightening his legs around Red’s middle, and that was the only warning Shiro got before Keith clicked his tongue and the mare burst into motion, galloping away into the trees.

Shiro swore and dug his heels in, starting after them, Kuro’s neck straining forward as his hooves pounded across the ground. Shiro caught up to Keith quickly but Red snapped at Kuro, back legs kicking up and making the stallion’s stride falter, giving Keith the lead again. Shiro pulled Kuro forward, giving Red a wider berth. Keith was still in control of her, incredibly, even as she ran at a breakneck pace with every bit of reckless abandon in her mustang blood.

Kuro took the lead again, then Red, then Kuro, then Red, and Shiro had no idea that mare was so speedy. She didn’t look like a racehorse, and he doubted she had any Thoroughbred or Arabian in her, but Shiro supposed that didn’t matter when she had grown up running to survive, learned it within hours of birth, escaped the chase of every predator except one.

Shiro knew what Keith saw in her then, as she thundered past Kuro in one final burst of energy and beat him to the estate gates, her pelt dark with sweat and mouth flecked with foam, eyes gleaming with a spark not unlike Keith’s own. She was a wild thing, and Keith had not tamed her at all. She had never truly been broken, and never truly would be.

“Alright,” Shiro conceded, dismounting and patting Kuro’s damp muzzle soothingly. “You win.”

Keith didn’t answer, still sitting in the saddle. He was slumped over Red’s neck, arms hanging down on either side, body heaving with as much exertion as his horse’s. “Good girl,” Keith was saying, face pressed to her mane. “You did it, Red. We did it.”

Red was breathing heavily, but she nickered, the most tender reply she had. It was a sound often made by mothers calling to their foals, Shiro knew. When Keith dismounted she made the sound again, and he imitated it. It wasn’t quite right but Red nuzzled at his hair anyway, and let Keith lead her through the gates and back to her stall without balking once.

When both horses were safely put away and given fresh water, the two of them walked back to the house, feeling sleepiness settle into their bones as the sun reached its peak in the sky.

“We both need a bath,” Keith yawned when the door closed safely behind them. “All I can smell is horse.”

“I thought you liked horses.”

“I’d rather smell you,” Keith replied.

Later, when they had both managed to cram themselves into Shiro’s slightly larger bathtub, Shiro asked, “What _do_ I smell like?”

Keith lifted his head. “You don’t know?”

“No,” Shiro said. “I know sires are supposed to have scents, and that the ones they turn are supposed to be able to smell them. But I can’t smell myself, really.”

“Well,” Keith drawled, “I most definitely can.”

“And?”

“How do you describe a scent? Oh, I don’t know. It’s calming. It was familiar, somehow, even the very first time. It’s a bit like…how the air smells after rain falls, clean and earthy. A little sharper, though.” He furrowed his brow in concentration. “Rain with lightning.”

“That sounds…nice,” Shiro murmured.

“What did you expect, something foul?”

“No,” Shiro said. “Just…something stronger, I suppose. Like citrus, or cinnamon, or pine. Not…rain.”

“It _is_ strong,” Keith said, sitting up and raising an eyebrow. “Just in a different way. Like the waterfall – there’s strength in that, power. It wasn’t weakness that carved its way through solid rock, Shiro.”

Shiro looked at him from half-lidded eyes. “You have a scent, too. It’s like the taste of your blood…the taste of your soul, as you’d say.”

Keith bit his lip. “And how did it taste?”

“Strong, but sweet,” Shiro said with a smile. “Just like you.”

*

They dried off and dressed in companionable quiet. Shiro closed the curtains and got in bed, and Keith hesitated, lingering near the door. “I…should go back to my room,” Keith said reluctantly.

“Why is that?”

“It…it’s too risky,” Keith mumbled. “If the maids saw…”

“If the maids saw, they would say nothing,” Shiro finished. “You don’t need to hide here, Keith.”

Keith looked at him uncertainly. “You trust them? Even though this – we – are illegal?”

“Keith, come here,” Shiro sighed, and Keith did, body tense as Shiro wrapped an arm around him and drew him close. “You’re correct that this is not legal. But trust me when I say that I would never let anything happen to you.”

“You can’t promise that,” Keith whispered. “Men are thrown in prison for less than what we have done, Shiro. It’s wrong, in the eyes of the law and the public and the Church and –”

“Their eyes are not here,” Shiro said. “And they never will be.”

“I want to believe you,” Keith said, tucking his head under Shiro’s chin. “I want so badly to believe you.”

“Believe me, then,” Shiro murmured. “You’re safe here.”

Keith exhaled and gave a small nod, hands curling tight in Shiro’s shirt. “Okay,” he said, and stayed.

*

November was a month of long rides through molting trees at sunset and soft secrets exchanged under the sheets at sunrise. Shiro began to wonder, day by day, if he had ever really been in love before after all, because falling for Keith felt like nothing he’d ever known before.

It hit him at unexpected times – when Keith threw back his head and laughed, loud and uninhibited; when the moonlight caught his eyes just so; when he shifted in sleep and let out a small, discontented sound whenever Shiro rose before him. Shiro was so used to living only for himself, had let himself become content with apathy and bitterness, and loving Keith was like seeing the sun after a century spent in darkness.

On the occasions when they rode to the city together, no one ever recognized Keith. Shiro didn’t expect them to – he had changed, inside and out, and exuded a new kind of confidence that did not belong to an unruly orphan boy or a sickly factory worker. He still looked to Shiro for guidance and hardly had the poise and manners of a true gentleman, but his transformation was unmistakable and Shiro had no doubt he would only continue to grow.

The first snow fell in the first week of December, light and melted to slush by morning, leaving crystallized fractals on the windows in its wake. Shiro and Keith spent the night curled up by the roaring fire more often than not, and hunted only when they absolutely had to, always saving some for the cellar. The elk were migrating to the southern parts of the forest, beyond Shiro’s territory, so they preyed upon the deer instead. Mostly bucks – they avoided the pregnant does. Shiro had never explored the forest at length, so they often stumbled upon new places on their hunts and rides – ancient trees, fairy rings, more little streams and ponds, and even a few caves.

Keith persuaded Shiro to explore those caves during the afternoon, and though they reminded him all too much of the garrison’s cells, they genuinely delighted Keith. He was fascinated by the pools of frigid water and the weird creatures they contained – brightly colored salamanders and snappish crayfish, mostly. There were giant spiders, too, and they gave Shiro the creeps but Keith let them crawl over his fingers, their hairy legs tiptoeing across his skin one by one.

“Would you like to hold it?” Keith had asked once, holding up the newest horrifying arachnid he’d discovered as if it were a puppy.

“I’m afraid I’m going to have to decline,” Shiro managed, hoping he wasn’t grimacing too much.

Keith had shrugged, unbothered. “They’re interesting,” he said, but set it back down gently on its rock.

Keith certainly had a penchant for ‘interesting’ things. He collected bones when they saw them in the forest – birds and rodents, mostly, but once he found a whole deer antler and carried it home as if it were pure gold. They found empty turtle shells picked clean by otters and eagles along the river, and once a shed snakeskin that crackled with every touch. Not all of Keith’s findings were so macabre, though – he liked feathers, too, soft striped owl plumes and long black buzzard primaries which he kept in vases like flowers.

Shiro liked to find him the prettiest river rocks, polished smooth by the flowing water, and if he was lucky, a raw chunk of rose quartz half-buried in the soil. Keith kept a stone or two in his pocket at all times, like good luck charms, Shiro supposed.

The more they got to know the forest, the more it got to know them. The deer, strangely, seemed to tolerate them, especially during the day. Maybe they sensed that they weren’t there to hunt when the sun was up, because they hardly ever ran, and were comfortable enough to graze within view.

Squirrels and chipmunks chattered at them loudly from the trees, and sometimes Keith would nick grains or nuts from the kitchens to feed them. That attracted raccoons and ringtail cats at night, which picked up whole hazelnuts with their oddly human hands and dashed up the nearest trunk to eat them in the branches, dropping the shells on their heads. Foxes followed them through the undergrowth if they brought more than just squirrel food – the deer liked to eat corn, and so did they.

Once or twice they saw mountain lions prowling, often in the hours just before sunrise, their glowing eyes meeting Shiro and Keith’s for a moment, a silent acknowledgment between predators, before they padded away into the shadows.

But Keith’s favorite animals, as far as Shiro could tell, were the ravens.

They were carrion birds, and gathered around every new deer corpse almost as soon as Keith and Shiro had finished feeding. Shiro found them irritating, with their loud caws and expectant, beady eyes, but Keith threw them scraps. He’d taken to carrying a little knife with him to make the task easier, and the ravens flocked eagerly around him. Shiro wouldn’t be surprised if Keith got them to eat out of his hands eventually.

Keith named them, because of course he did. It was ridiculous, but it certainly didn’t make Shiro any less in love with him.

Love had not been mentioned since that day beside the waterfall, though. Keith was still skittish about such topics, especially within earshot of others, and he would sleep in Shiro’s bed most nights but sometimes Shiro would awake to find Keith’s side cold. At first he was hurt, but it quickly became apparent that Keith didn’t flee because of any lapse in affection, but rather because he feared how great their affection for each other had become. Keith was still afraid of someone finding out. It would take time, Shiro understood, and in the meantime he would be there to care for Keith in whatever ways Keith allowed.

They also hadn’t done much more than kiss since their first night together. It didn’t bother Shiro – Keith was trying to find his footing in their relationship and his new life, and it must have been overwhelming enough. Shiro did not wish to cause him anymore stress by pressuring him in any way. Still, sometimes their kisses turned wicked and so did Keith, soft edges sharpening as he took control, and Shiro let him.

They both liked leaving marks on each other. At first Keith had been too scared to, scared that someone would see even though Shiro assured him they healed quickly. But he changed his mind when Shiro sucked bruises into the hollows of his hips and inner thighs, blooming red and purple where only he could see as Keith squirmed helplessly. After that, Keith bit his neck.

Shiro had been a little shocked. He didn’t know if other sires let their progeny bite them, but he wasn’t about to stop Keith from doing it. He’d licked at the punctures and moaned deep in his throat like it actually did something for him, like Shiro’s blood was what he needed. Shiro had kissed him when he pulled away from the bite, bloody lips and all, everything tasting of salt and metal. Keith had let Shiro push him down onto the bed fully, arching up when Shiro pressed his wrists to the pillows and kissed him as hard as he dared. They’d rolled and rutted against each other gracelessly until they both came with gasps of each other’s names, lying in the exhausted afterglow with their foreheads together, breathing each other in.

“I love you,” Shiro had whispered after Keith fell asleep, brushing the sweaty strands of hair away from his face.

Keith had stayed, that time.

*

By Christmas, the snow was a few feet deep, and made the nights eerily bright. They took the horses for short rides under the moonlight, the forest transformed into a strange silver tableau, everything muffled, so silent that they hardly spoke to each other. Each word sounded like a gunshot in the quiet winter nights, broken only by the hoot of a lone owl or the soft thumps of snow falling from overladen pine branches. And, of course, the crunch of the horses’ hooves breaking through the fresh powder. Footsteps were easy to hear on those nights.

But they didn’t hear the footsteps that particular night until it was too late.

Shiro had caught a scent – seemingly distant, but it made him uneasy. He couldn’t recall where he’d smelled it before, but he was certain he had. Keith, sensing his wariness, stopped Red.

“What is it?” he whispered, breath curling from his mouth like a ghost.

“I don’t know,” Shiro said. He shifted in his saddle, turning to look behind them. Nothing. He frowned. The Galra hadn’t been near his woods in a while, but…he could have sworn he smelled Galra then. Galra, but a little off. There was another scent mixed in, and that was what confused him.

Keith scented the air too, grip tightening on the reins. “It’s close, Shiro, whatever it is.”

“Close? No, that can’t be, it –”

The horses reared and neighed in terror, the sound echoing deafeningly through the trees. Keith fell from the saddle, landing hard on his back in the snow with a groan. Shiro kept his seat but Kuro was prancing in place, ready to flee, frothing at the bit.

Standing in the clearing before them was someone Shiro had hoped to never see again.

“Sendak,” he growled, lifting his chin. “These are my woods now, and you have no place here.”

The Galra stepped forward, towering over the height of any human man, shoulders as wide as the oak behind him, and the horses screamed again. Keith scrambled to his feet with difficulty, and Shiro dismounted before Kuro could bolt. The stallion took flight as soon as Shiro released his reins, but Red stayed beside Keith, snorting and kicking up snow. Sendak eyed her, unimpressed, baring his fangs.

“Go!” Keith cried, trying to shoo her away. “Red, go, get out of here, follow Kuro!”

“Oh, how sweet,” Sendak said, his single yellow eye narrowing, the other one glowing a steady violet, surrounded by ugly scarring where it had been plucked out. “You got your little pet a pony, Shiro? I hear you’ve been drinking deer blood these days…I wonder if horse blood is anything like it.”

“No!” Keith screamed before he could lunge for her, and hit Red’s flank as hard as he could. She leapt away from him with a high-pitched whinny, startled and stung, and fled after Kuro through the trees at a panicky gallop, tossing her head.

Sendak’s lip curled. “I’m surprised you turned such a fiery one, Shiro. I thought you’d prefer them passive and broken.”

“Shut up,” Shiro snarled.

“Though, come to think of it, you weren’t too keen to fuck those breeders Haggar gave you. In fact, as I remember it, you slit their throats with a metal file.”

Keith looked to Shiro with wide eyes. “They begged me to,” Shiro retorted, not looking at Keith.

“Even as a human he was a vicious killer,” Sendak told Keith. “He can pretend all he likes, dress himself up and hide in his pretty mansion, but he hasn’t really changed. If we put him back in the ring, he’d still be the Champion.”

“You’re wrong,” Keith snapped, baring his fangs right back at Sendak. “Get out of our forest.”

The older vampire was taken aback, then amused, glancing at Shiro and grinning with his endless rows of sharp teeth. “‘Our’? My, my, you certainly are taking liberties with this one, Shiro. When I heard you’d become a sire, I expected better than this. No self-respecting Galra sire would let their progeny speak so out of turn.”

“Then it’s a good thing I’m not Galra, and never will be,” Shiro said.

“Ah, but you are,” Sendak countered. “It was our serum that turned you. And that brings me to the reason for my visit – I’m going to have to borrow this from you.” Before Shiro could so much as open his mouth, Sendak lunged forward and grabbed Keith with one massive, clawed hand, the one the Druids had given him. It was flesh interwoven with wires and metal and insidious violet magic, and it was far too strong for Keith to break out of.

“Let go of me!” Keith shouted, twisting uselessly and trying to free his trapped arms. “Let _go!_ ”

“No,” Sendak said mildly, squeezing him harder. Keith’s shout turned into a cough, eyes widening, the magic runes on Sendak’s skin illuminating. He gasped and squeezed his eyes shut in pain and Shiro started forward, only to freeze when Sendak added, “Another step, and I’ll break all his ribs.”

“What do you want,” Shiro gritted out, afraid and angry, eyes fixed on Keith.

“It isn’t what _I_ want,” Sendak said. “Haggar has been busy lately, as you may have noticed.”

“Yes,” Shiro said, guarded. “She’s been killing boys from the city.”

“She’s been trying to figure out how to create others like you,” Sendak corrected. “You see, the serum, and all the notes she took, were stolen some time after we released you. You wouldn’t know anything about that?”

 _Thace and Ulaz._ “No,” Shiro snapped. “We both know I was out of my mind and hardly capable of theft back then. Get to the point. Why are you here? Why do you need Keith?”

“It’s ancient magic that turned you,” Sendak said. “Haggar wants to use it again. And she thinks she can use this…Keith to figure it out.”

“That makes no sense,” Shiro snapped, panicking anew. “Keith knows nothing about the serum, nothing –”

“But you turned him using its magic,” Sendak interrupted. “So it does, indeed, make sense.”

“You can’t hurt him,” Shiro said, hands curling into fists, eyes blazing. “I won’t let you hurt him; I’ll kill you if you try to take him from me, don’t think I won’t.”

Sendak frowned and lifted Keith towards his face, scrutinizing him for a moment, and then scenting him. Shiro growled furiously and Keith squirmed, trembling as Sendak nosed at his neck. “Stop,” Keith whispered. “Don’t…”

Sendak pulled away, surprised. “He’s your _mate_?”

“Yes,” Shiro said, standing his ground.

Sendak looked at Keith again. “This…this _pathetic runt_ …is your mate.” He glared. “You’ve made a poor choice, Shiro. I’m disappointed.”

“I am not here to please you, Sendak, much as you would like me to be,” Shiro told him.

Sendak’s glare intensified. “I could have given you everything,” he snapped. “Don’t pretend that you weren’t tempted, once.”

“That was a long time ago, now let go of him,” Shiro said, a pleading note slipping into his voice.

Maybe that was what did it, but either way Sendak released Keith, his limp body crumpling into the snow. Sendak shook his head as Shiro rushed to Keith’s side and gathered him up, backing away from Sendak as Keith coughed and clutched at his side, standing shakily. “You’re a fool, Shiro,” Sendak said coolly. “We both know you’re not a strong enough sire, and you’ve made yourself weaker by taking on a mate. Lotor will take advantage of that weakness. Maybe tomorrow, maybe in a century or two, but he will.”

“If you truly wanted me as your mate, you should have listened to me and left the Galra,” Shiro said, looking up at him. “I know you wanted to. I know you still want to. Look at yourself, still running errands for Haggar, even after everything she did to you. To us.”

“You know escape would have been impossible,” Sendak retorted, ears pinning back in chagrin. “You know that if there had been a chance, even a sliver of a chance, I would have tried –”

“No,” Shiro whispered, holding Keith close. “No, Sendak, I don’t know that. And it’s too late, now, anyway. Eighty-six years too late.”

Sendak stood stiffly as the snow began to fall again. “I would have,” he repeated, but it was defeated, and he turned away. “I’ll inform Haggar that I found nothing of import, and that your mate is useless to the Galra. They will not trouble you…for a time, at least.”

“And then you will leave,” Shiro said.

“Yes,” Sendak said. “I will be sent to Zarkon’s garrison at the first thaw. I expect not to return to this place.”

“Better that way,” Shiro muttered.

Sendak sighed. “Vrepit sa, Shiro,” he said.

Shiro swallowed, and did not raise his eyes to watch him go. “Vrepit sa,” he replied, whispered words carried away by the swirling snow, and when he looked up Sendak was gone.

Shiro slumped in relief. “Are you alright?” he asked Keith, who took a step and winced.

“Think so,” Keith mumbled. “Just sore…” He squinted into the snow. “Where’s Red?”

“They left tracks, here,” Shiro said, leading him over the two pairs of deep hoof prints.

“Who was that?” Keith asked as they followed the tracks, his breathing still uneven.

“Sendak,” Shiro said. He didn’t want to let go of Keith’s shoulder, and he couldn’t stop his hand from shaking.

Keith frowned. “Yes, yes, I know that, his name is Sendak and he’s part of the Galra and – ow – he wanted you to be his mate, but how do you know him?”

“He was…Haggar experimented on him, too,” Shiro said. “Sometimes she’d pair us up in arena. It was…it was a difficult time, Keith, please don’t let it get to you too much.”

“No, I understand,” Keith said quietly. “War makes strange bedfellows, right?”

The snow was falling more heavily, shrouding the world in white. “It wasn’t like that,” Shiro said.

“Not bedfellows?”

“No,” Shiro said.

“But…you considered it.”

“I considered many awful things, Keith,” Shiro sighed. “I considered anything that might bring me escape. I considered the metal file more than Sendak.”

“Shiro,” Keith whispered, touching his arm, “I’m not asking out of jealousy. I’m asking if he hurt you.”

Shiro blinked at him. Keith had only concern in his face, and his heart skipped a beat. “Oh,” he said. “No, he…no, Keith. Sendak didn’t hurt me, not like that. He may be crude and possessive but…there was a certain respect between us.”

“I’m glad,” Keith said. “I’m so glad he didn’t, Shiro.” He shuddered. “I didn’t like his scent.”

“No?” Shiro tried to remember it, and found, like so many other things, he’d banished it firmly from his mind. Good riddance.

“No,” Keith said. “Like cheap wine. Some kind of alcohol. Harsh and sickly sweet, almost burning.”

Shiro remembered.

“Yours is much better,” Keith added, turning his face briefly into Shiro’s side and inhaling. “So much better.”

There was a sudden splotch of darkness and slight movement through the snow up ahead and they hurried towards it, shielding their eyes from the brightness.

“Oh, thank God,” Keith breathed as the snow cleared enough for them to see the two horses up ahead. “Red!”

The two horses weren’t ignoring each other anymore. They were huddled close together, Kuro’s neck curved around and head bowed to shield Red from the cold wind as the smaller mare tucked her head against his shoulder. Shiro followed Keith over to them and Red raised her head, nickering in greeting, ears pricking up. Kuro snorted and sniffed at Shiro when he approached, perhaps checking for damage. Finding none, he whinnied, satisfied.

Keith hugged Red’s neck and she nibbled at his hair. “I’m sorry I hit you,” he mumbled. “Thank you for trying to protect me.”

“Yes, yes, Kuro, we’re going now,” Shiro said as the stallion tossed his head and snorted, louder. “Still in pain, Keith?”

Keith swung himself up into the saddle and shook his head. “I’m alright,” he murmured, and cracked a weak smile. “I’d race you, but…”

Shiro shook his head, and smiled back, though it felt brittle, a fragile front to hide the fear still coursing through his veins; the image of Keith in pain burned into his mind. He felt like he had just after turning Keith – asunder, unbalanced, and helpless to the new instincts roaring inside of him.

Keith’s smile faltered, and he looked away, brows drawn together. “We need to get home.”

“Yes. Home.”

And so they went.

*

The blizzard continued even after they put the horses away and got inside, shedding their snow-covered layers at the coatrack. Keith unwound the scarf from Shiro’s neck with numb fingers, and Shiro kissed each one of them afterwards, exhaling over the reddened skin until they curled in reflex and Keith bit his lip, taking a step into his space.

“Shiro,” he whispered, fingers curled and eyes bright, “take me to bed.”

Shiro kissed him, right there in the front foyer where anyone could see them. Keith didn’t stop him.

Their path upstairs was little more than a series of fragmented impressions in Shiro’s head – warm mouths on chilled skin, dazed eyes and snow-flecked lashes, the hard press of a wall against his back, more clothes shed on the landing, neither bothering to pick them up.

They managed to be quiet on their way up, but as soon as Shiro shut the door to his bedroom he growled loudly, the buttons of Keith’s shirt clattering to the floor as he ripped it open. Keith shredded Shiro’s shirt to tatters with his claws, so they were even.

Shiro pushed him up against the door and Keith’s hips lifted to meet his, his breath coming out in a hiss when Shiro shoved his pants down and left clawmarks across his hip, then in a whimper when Shiro bit his shoulder. It wasn’t human blood, it wasn’t animal blood, but it was Keith, and Shiro drank until Keith slumped into him, the whole door rattling as his head thumped against it.

“You’re mine,” Shiro growled when he pulled away, grabbing a handful of Keith’s hair and holding him in place. Keith looked at him dazedly, fangs shining between half-parted lips. “I’ll never let anyone take you away from me, never.”

“Yours, I’m yours,” Keith panted, clinging to him. “I won’t leave your side, Takashi; I swear it, never, never.”

“You look so good with my marks all over you, Keith,” Shiro whispered, nuzzling into his jaw and breathing hot over it. “Want to mark you up until everyone knows who you belong to.”

“Do it,” Keith gasped, “want you to, want you to cover me in your scent and your mouth and your hands, want everything, anything –”

“Yes,” Shiro snarled, scrabbling at the door and his own pants until they were both bare and stumbling towards the bed. Keith hit the mattress hard, as hard as he’d hit the snow when he fell, and Shiro’s chest rumbled with a worried sound at the thought, his touch gentling as he climbed over Keith on the bed.

“C’mere,” Keith breathed, dragging him down for a bruising kiss, hands curling around the back of Shiro’s neck and anchoring him. Shiro shifted, Keith’s cock nudging at his own, and rocked down against him, groaning into Keith’s mouth. Keith bucked up, bracing his feet on the bed and breaking the kiss to mouth at Shiro’s neck, licking at the sweat dripping down his collarbones.

“Keith, Keith,” Shiro said, the friction between them maddening, not nearly enough.

“Shiro,” Keith breathed, legs falling open and head falling back. “Yes.”

Shiro sat up with effort, looking down at him, Keith’s chest rising and falling shallowly and cock leaking. A growl rose up in his throat again, just from that, just from looking. “Yes?” Shiro asked, resting his hands on Keith’s spread thighs and shifting forward, making his meaning unmistakable.

Keith hesitated, throat bobbing as he swallowed, and then gave a small shake of his head in reply.

Concern bubbled up again, and Shiro sat back on his heels, tilting his head in confusion. “Do you not want –?”

Keith chewed his lip, then seemed to reach a decision and sat up, crawling into Shiro’s lap and pushing him back to lie against the pillows. Shiro’s breath caught as Keith shuffled around, furrowing his brow for a few moments as if to figure out the logistics, and then, flushed but determined, straddled his hips. “Like this,” he said, peering down at him. “Okay?”

“More than okay, fuck, Keith,” Shiro groaned, kissing Keith again, and when Keith drew away he grabbed Shiro’s hand and took two fingers into his mouth without further preamble. Shiro swore again and Keith sucked his fingers harder, giving them a light nip before releasing them. Shiro wasted no time in pressing his dripping fingers back between Keith’s legs, finding his hole and rubbing at it until the rim was as slick as his fingers and Keith began to open for him, enough for one finger to slip in. Keith shuddered, hands falling upon Shiro’s chest and squeezing at the muscle there. They were going to need more than spit.

Keith whined when Shiro withdrew his finger and sat up, and whined even more plaintively when Shiro nudged him off and rose from the bed, walking towards the bathroom. “Quiet,” Shiro scolded. “Wait a moment.”

Blinking, Keith did, lips forming a small ‘o’ when Shiro returned with a bottle of lavender oil. He looked up at Shiro as he rejoined him on the bed as they had been and mumbled, “You didn’t have to…”

“I won’t hurt you,” Shiro replied, which was perhaps a bit inaccurate considering the bloody bite mark and bruises all over him, but Keith leaned forward and kissed him sweetly in reply, so Shiro thought the meaning came across.

When Shiro poured the oil over his hand and pressed his fingers against Keith again, the slide inside was almost shockingly easy, and one was quickly joined by two, and Keith’s head dropped against Shiro’s shoulder when he eventually worked in three and moved them inside him, stretching him open with a slowness that made Keith squirm. His little movements brushed their cocks together again, and Keith took that as a cue to start stroking Shiro’s cock, accidentally matching up to the rhythm of Shiro’s fingers.

Shiro stopped him with a growl – he was too close already. Keith blinked at him slowly, then started jerking himself off, lashes fluttering, moving back onto Shiro’s fingers, and Shiro liked to think he was a patient man but _he had limits_ , and Keith had ways of finding them all too easily.

Shiro withdrew his fingers with a loud, slick sound and lined himself up, waiting for Keith to make the first move. Keith stilled. “Yes,” he whispered as he sat on the head of Shiro’s cock, mouth falling open. “Y-yes, yes, you feel –” He moaned and sank down fully and Shiro stared at him breathlessly, hands tight on his hips, as Keith’s spine arched and he started to move.

“Keith,” Shiro said, voice barely recognizable, raspy and deep with arousal. The mere sound made Keith moan and roll his hips faster, deeper, fucking himself on Shiro’s cock shamelessly. “How do you feel? How do you feel with me inside you?”

“Full,” Keith whimpered, bouncing when Shiro thrust up, his eyes flying wide and claws digging into Shiro’s chest. “Oh – please, please, do that again –”

“Tell me,” Shiro urged, claws scraping over Keith’s back.

“I feel like I love you,” Keith sobbed, meeting his eyes frantically. “Because I do, I do, I love you so much I don’t know what to do –”

Shiro gathered him up in his arms, chest to chest and face to face, and they moved together and he kissed the wetness on Keith’s cheek and said, “I love you too, forever, _Keith_ ,” as Keith gasped incomprehensible pleas against his skin with every thrust.

“I thought he was going to take me away,” Keith babbled, “I thought I might never see you again, I thought, what we have is too good, it can’t last, it never lasts, but Shiro, Shiro, _I want it to last_ –”

“It will,” Shiro vowed, and it felt like a sacred oath in that moment, when he was closer to Keith than anyone had ever been, both in body and mind, and maybe even soul, if such a thing existed. Yes, Keith made Shiro believe in things like souls, and gods, and fate, and love. “We will last, forever and always.”

“Kiss me,” Keith said, and Shiro did, and they carried each other over the edge and into eternity.

*

He had grown to love the night.

**Author's Note:**

> side note, kuro & red had a rly cute foal together and her name is strawberry
> 
> this epilogue is a MONSTER, omg, i did not mean for it to get so long but man do i like writin this au. I hope you all enjoyed, please comment & leave kudos to show support if you did~
> 
> find me on tumblr @saltyshiro and look out for that much-awaited THIHV epilogue sooooon!


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